To be a Ranger
by Warden of Tol Eressea
Summary: As Sauron grows and the times draws to the pivotal moment, a young Ranger will step forward and change the world. For it is often the common folk who truly make the difference.
1. Chapter 1

To be a Ranger

Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of the Rings or any of its characters.

I

The year 2990 of the Third Age began without much celebration, at least in the realm of Gondor. As the years passed, all its inhabitants felt a touch of shadow that lingered ever out of the grasp of conscious thought. For they were always aware of the fact that they lived under the watchful presence of Mordor. And when evil finally began to stir anew in Middle-Earth, there were none more hard-pressed than the brave men of Minas Tirith.

But the days were slowly worsening. As reports flew in about the ever-increasing number of orcs active in the Mountains of Shadow, the growing number of raids and attacks on the coasts by Corsairs, and other disturbing Easterling and Southron activities, the Ruling Stewards of Gondor felt their kingdom slowly, ever slowly, being beaten down. Each new day brought fresh orc hordes that had to be repelled. And each new day brought more and more wounded Gondorian soldiers streaming into the encampments.

The year 2990 began without much celebration. It was the sixth year of the rule of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, the second year after the death of his beloved wife Finduilas. The passing of Finduilas left the Steward a changed man, and not for the better. His demeanor became bitter, his speech quick and biting. Yet, by all the men who served him and all those who beheld him, the Lord Denethor became more kingly in appearance and more piercing in gaze. He saw and heard much, both within his realm and in the hearts of men. His beloved first son Boromir was pushing the age of 12, already a showing signs of becoming an outstanding warrior and captain.

Of his second son Faramir, Denethor loved little, often scorning the gentle and peace-loving boy. Perhaps it was because Faramir reminded Denethor too much of his passed wife, or even that Faramir was much like his father, already at a young age having a thirst for knowledge and lore. But these two sons of Gondor would soon play a pivotal role in the coming years, regardless of what their father saw in them, even as they frolicked and ran through the streets of Minas Tirith.

The year 2990 began without much celebration. The winter had been especially hard this year and in particular the villages near the Ash Mountains in Gondor's eastern territories and in nearby Ithilien, though the people there were now few in number. For it has been many years since any layman of Gondor has passed east of the great Anduin, most having already evacuated the region. The year before had plagued Gondor with an especially brutal series of orc raids and skirmishes as far as the Harad Road.

But then, what can Men really do? They're no seers and they take each day as it is, living out their lives and trying the best to ensure the livelihoods of their families. And so the days pass on, blending together without much discernment between this day and the next. Tales and news from far off lands concerned the Gondorians little, for their plight was in the here and now. And unless dire messages should come from their allies in Rohan, the men of Minas Tirith went along their own business, deeming justly that the threat from the Nameless One in far off Mount Doom was more perilous than all others.

Indeed, the year 2990 began without much celebration. But to one family in the hidden village of Kerac in Ithilien, New Year's Day symbolized a new blessing as a baby boy was brought into the world. Kerac was one of the last villages left populated in Ithilien, only 5 miles east of the hidden refuge of Henneth Annun. None of the servants of Sauron had ever set foot or laid eyes on it. And so in their small world, the villagers went on with their lives, farming the land and looking after their own.

And though none knew it at the time, the year 2990 would soon become a year much heralded and renowned in the future. And it was all due to the birth of this child. The villagers of Kerac were simple folk, so why should this particular child be any different? Yet, fate had other plans in store. Even as the shadow continued to lengthen, the boy grew more and more in body and mind. For fate is a fickle thing. In the eyes of many, it takes a great power and mind to match the evil that comes from Sauron and they all turn their attentions onto such people as the Elves and lords of Men. But narrow-mindedness has always been the bane of life. For it is the common folk, the everyday deeds of regular men and women, that truly keeps the darkness at bay. Great lords may sit in their high towers and debate, but at the end of the day, the valor of the common people is what truly holds through. And for this one particular child, great deeds and pain awaits.

Yes, the year 2990 began without much celebration. And it is just how the world works at times. But years into the future, the people of Gondor would look back and think of the year 2990 and thank Elbereth and Eru himself what a true blessing it was.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings nor any of its characters.

II

 _Village of Kerac, Ithilien, T.A. 3000_

"Findon! Findon! Where is that boy?!"

The shrill cry rang through the streets of the tiny village of Kerac. The boy in question came running in from the woods where he had been playing at the sound of his mother's call.

"Coming!" Findon ran down the path and came to a halt at his front door where his mother, Galwain stood waiting.

"Have you been in the woods again? I told you not to get all your clothes all dirty and muddy. Did you finish all your chores?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you feed the chickens?"

"Yes, ma'am. And I watered the horses and swept out the pens." Findon added before his mother could ask him. Galwain looked hard down at her son for a few moments before finally relenting.

"Alright then, go on." Galwain said with a sigh as she watched her eldest son sprint off again down the streets and into the woods. Findon had always been an energetic boy and more often than not would come home well after dark, dirtied and muddy from the day's adventures. But Galwain could never stay too angry. She has long since reassured herself that boys will be boys. Life had been hard especially after Findon's father had died three years ago due to an abnormally high fever. At times, Galwain worried about Findon, never having a proper father figure throughout his childhood. Someone to teach him how to ride, how to shoot, or how to fight. But Findon, as energetic as he was, always understood that his mother did the best she could to provide for this diminished family, and thus took on a lot of the responsibility around the house (well, as much responsibility as a 10 year old can take).

And as the aforementioned boy ran back into the woods, a figure suddenly jumped out from the shrubbery and onto his back.

"SURPRISE!"

Findon yelped and crashed into the ground with the unknown attacker on top of him. He turned and saw the familiar grin of his best friend Idrial.

"Argh what was that for?" Findon slowly got back to his feet as Idrial got off him and dusted himself off.

"Admit it Fin, I got you!" Idrial said, still with a huge grin on her face. "And serves you right too. Don't you know it's rude to keep a lady waiting?"

Findon raised his eyebrows at that last comment.

"Didn't know ladies were so aggressive," Findon smirked and added, "I always was the punctual one aren't I." Idrial rolled her eyes and grinned again.

"Come on, race you to the fort." And with that she was off. Findon, a bit slow to react, started a bit and then bolted after her. The fort as the two friends called it was an old tree house that they had found during one of their many days exploring the surrounding woods. Though neither of them knew it, they had actually stumbled upon one of the many abandoned watch posts that Gondor posted in Ithilien. This particular one had been one of the first, constructed ninety years ago by the Steward Turin II. And as such, the small tree house commanded a wide view of the lands beyond the woods and the enclosed village, as well as an excellent view of the stars at nighttime (a fact that led the two friends to, on more than one occasion, sneak out of their houses to play at night, oftentimes leading to them falling asleep, much to the wrath of their parents).

Findon had always been a bit of a lonely child. Sure, he had his mother and his three-year-old little brother Andar, but in terms of companions his age, he was often uncomfortable playing with the other boys of the village. There was one group in particular that he actively sought to avoid. For verily, Tobold, the leader of the gang and two years older than Findon, had always held a grudge against him ever since the festival two years ago when Findon edged over him in the archery competition. And since then, Tobold had gone out of his way to make life more miserable for Findon, oftentimes taunting him for the lack of a father figure. It baffled the older boy just how Findon had gotten so good at the bow when there was no one to teach him. And so, as boys are always inclined to do so, Tobold began to bully Findon, secretly jealous of his talent.

Idrial, on the other hand, had always been an energetic and adventurous girl. She itched to be outside and playing in the woods and dreaded the prospect of learning needlework or helping her mother with the daily chores. She snuck away as much as she could and played in the woods and it was on one of these times that she met Findon. The two became fast friends and their parents, though thrilled that their children had found a best friend, have since gotten used to finding their child missing, sighing and promising to yell at them for being out too late.

"Findon! Come quick and look!" As Findon reached the tree where their little fort was, he looked up and saw Idrial waving frantically at him and beckoning him up.

"What is it?" He yelled back up and he quickly began to climb the rope that led into the tree house.

"Look. Riders in the distance." Findon peered out through the window and saw in the distance to the north, just on the edge of the woods, a large group of horses.

"They're coming into the woods. What if it's an orc pack?" Never in their years of playing in the woods have they ever seen such a large group so near their village, besides the occasional scout or errand-rider from Cair Andros.

"Think we should go and warn the village elder," Findon said quietly and Idrial nodded as she began to climb down the rope. Findon turned back to look out the tree house opening and was suddenly aware of how much darker the eastern sky had become than normal.

And then he heard a high-pitched scream and bolted to the rope opening and saw a hooded horseman circling Idrial, who had fallen to the ground and was desperately trying to scramble to her feet.

"Findon! Help!" Findon quickly looked around the treehouse and grabbed one of the bows that he and Idrial had stored there (a flimsy weapon that Findon had carved out of a tree branch) along with the quiver that Idrial had gave him as a present and slid down the rope onto the ground. The sound of hooves was then heard as Findon saw another rider come out of the trees and dismount. And that's when he ran, ran as though all the hounds of Mordor were after him, towards Idrial, nocking an arrow and fired.

The hooded man who had dismounted had bent down to inspect the captured girl when he felt something fly just inches above his head. He ducked and turned just in time to see an arrow slamming with a loud _thud_ into a tree trunk. Yelling to his companion and drawing a long sword from within his cloak, he saw through the trees a young boy running towards him with what looked like a small hunting bow and another arrow already nocked.

"Get away from her you filthy orcs!" Findon shouted as he felt a rush of adrenaline run through his body. Because at that moment, nothing in the world mattered to him, not even his own safety, as he rushed to the defense of his friend.

He stumbled a bit and before he could regain his balance, another figure previously unnoticed appeared and shoved Findon to the ground. And before Findon could do anything more, he heard the _bringgg_ of steel as a sword had materialized seemingly out of nowhere and was pointed at him.

"Not another step there now."

Speechless, Findon and Idrial could only watch as more and more hooded figures appeared out of the woods and surrounded the two children.

"What happened captain. Who are these two?"

"They orc spies?"

"Use your damn brain Ingold, they look like orcs to you?"

"Quiet, all of you."

The person who Findon had shot at knelt back down facing the two children and removed his hood, revealing the face of a young man with raven-colored hair down almost to his shoulders.

"And who might you be? Speak. What are your names and where do you come from?"

For a second, neither Idrial nor Findon could form word. They glanced at each other, both with fear in their eyes.

"Well?" The mysterious man prompted.

Findon, mustering up the last ounces of his courage, spoke: "I am Findon, son of Holstan, and this is my friend Idrial." Of their village, he spoke nothing of, for all its inhabitants were aware that the secret of their location was the primary defense against the orcs from the Mountains of Shadow.

"Ah, then you are Ithilien-folk. From Kerac I presume." The man gave a small smile and stood back up. "Come now, you have nothing to fear from us. All of us are Ithilien Rangers and we have come with a message for Elder Stanin."

At the name "Ithilien Rangers" both Findon and Idrial looked up, the fear in their eyes replaced with a sense of wonder.

"He's a Ranger Fin, a real Ranger!" Idrial whispered excitedly. Findon gave no answer but continued to stare at the Ranger a little shyly but with no less awe.

The Ranger smiled again, turned to his men and told them get ready once more. Findon got back up and helped Idrial to her feet. They stood huddled together while the mysterious men regrouped.

"Come, won't you walk with me? It has been long since I have met any person who dwelt in Ithilien's hidden villages." The man went to the tree trunk, took out the arrow that Findon had shot, and walked back.

"I believe this belongs to you." Findon wordlessly took the arrow back as both he and Idrial got back onto their feet and began to walk.

After a short while, Findon looked at the Ranger walking beside him and stuttered out, "Ran- Ranger s-sir? I'm sorry for shooting at you. I thought it was a band of orcs."

The Ranger turned and smiled, "There is naught to apologize for. Your friend was in danger and you rushed to help her. That is a quality to be heralded. That was a good shot, while running too. You have the makings of a fine archer."

At this Idrial spoke up, "Fin is the best archer in the village Ranger sir! He's won all the archery competitions during the festivals!" At this Findon ducked his head and blushed, mumbling incoherently that no he was not as good as Idrial made him out to be.

The Ranger laughed and said in reply, "A warrior both brave and humble. That is good. That is good."

As the band emerged out of the woods and past the gate of the village, the people began to gather, wondering what dire news had brought the Ithilien Rangers to their village. The village elder, Stanin, rushed out of the town gathering house and stopped in surprise when he saw the mysterious man who had been talking to the two children.

"Faramir! What a surprise! It is a pleasure to see you again! All grown up now!"

Findon and Idrial looked at the Ranger and gasped. The son of the Steward! Faramir laughed and grasped hands with the elder.

"Good to see you as well elder. You haven't changed a bit, though perhaps a bit wider at the belt eh?" The elder roared with laughter.

"Get your men inside Faramir and welcome! It's been so long since anyone has come round here. I fear the news that you bring."

At this Faramir sighed and replied, "Let us talk more in private. I had the pleasure of meeting the two guardians of your village." Stanin looked past Faramir and saw Findon and Idrial for the first time before he chuckled.

"Ah those two, always up to mischief." And then, addressing the two children directly, he said with a small twinkle in his eye, "You two had best get home before your parents get too angry."

Findon and Idrial both nodded and started to run home before Findon turned back and said a little shyly, "It was nice meeting you Captain Faramir sir and my apologies about the arrow!"

Faramir grinned and then became a little serious. "And I meant no mere praise when I told you that was a good shot. Who made the bow and arrows?"

Findon reddened and looked down at his feet. "I made them sir, out of sticks and an old tree branch." He felt a bit ashamed for the toy bow was nothing compared to the huge longbows that many Rangers had slung across their backs.

"You have a natural talent Findon. Using what you have and making the best of it." Findon's head shot back up in surprise and joy.

"Here." Faramir reached into his pack and pulled out one of his arrows and grinned. "This is for you, perhaps something a bit better than a mere stick eh?" Findon hesitatingly took the arrow and nodded his thanks.

"I'll take good care of it sir."

"Oh it's just an old arrow. But keep working on your shots and perhaps you may shoot better than a Ranger can in time!" And with one last smile, Faramir got up and followed Stanin into the town hall.

Findon stood in a daze, until Idrial shook him slightly. He gave the hall one last look and then sprinted home after Idrial.

As the two friends neared their homes, Idrial turned towards Findon and hugged him.

"Thanks for coming to save me Fin." Findon blushed slightly and hugged Idrial back.

"Didn't really do the best job of saving you Idrial."

Idrial smiled back and was silent. Though she had been in no real danger, the ten-year-old girl was in awe of how brave Findon was, rushing to her defense, a testament to just how lucky she felt she was to have a best friend like Findon.

"All the same Fin, thank you."

"We're best friends, Idrial, what did you think I would have done?"

Idrial said nothing but hugged him again and smiled happily.

"Friends forever Fin?"

"You can count on it."

The two friends smiled and went to their respective homes, eager to tell their families what had happened.

The next day, Faramir got his men ready outside the village and prepared to ride south. Reports of Haradrim travelling north to the Morannan that Gondorians called the Black Gate had reached him the night before and Faramir had to ride fast to intercept them.

As he and his company began to ride out of the village. He saw out of the corner of his eye, the boy that he had met the day previously. Findon was his name, that was right. Faramir paused and saw him with that bow of his shooting at a nearby tree. And then the moment passed as his mother called out to him and he ran into his house.

"Captain? Is something wrong?" One of his men rode up beside him and asked.

"Oh it's nothing Anborn. Just something that caught my eye." And Faramir and his men rode on, but Faramir smiled a bit to himself. He had no idea why, but perhaps he should keep an eye out for this boy.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: A quick note on ages/lifespans (though most of you probably already know this). The Men of Numenor, who were part of the Edain that fought in the war against Morgoth in the First Age were granted lifespans many times that of other Men. Elros (known of Tar-Minyatur), brother of Elrond and the first King of the Numenorians lived to be 500 years old. Aragorn himself, descended directly from Valandil, the fourth son of Isildur, died at 210. The Gondorians, in contrast, mingled much with other Men, and thus their lifespans diminished, but was still considerably longer. Faramir, for example, died at the age of 120.

Forgive me for the lengthy explanation. Findon at the point in this story is already 28 years old. But to put that age in perspective, he is merely still reckoned in his late teens when put into the view of our own lifespans.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings nor any of its characters.

III

 _East Bank of Anduin, Osgiliath, June 19, T.A. 3018_

Night fell. No stars were to be seen this eve, for the clouds had obscured everything in the sky. And in the pitch darkness that this particular night offered, only the keenest of eyes could have detected the solitary hooded figure that quietly walked through the streets of ruined Osgiliath.

The night was cold. Colder than usual for this time of year. Findon pull his cloak more closely around him as he continued on his path, making his way up to the sentry tower to take his post that night.

Looking over the city and its ruined buildings and streets half-destroyed, Findon gave a rueful sigh. A lot had changed over the years in Gondor and more change was coming. The ever-present storm that can be felt leagues away in Mordor threatened to break with each passing year. Already, the first drops could be felt as Easterlings passing through the Brown Lands and orcs innumerable continued to raid Gondor each day. Osgiliath was the last river crossing left. If the city fell, so would Minas Tirith in short enough time and all the lands that lay behind.

A hand suddenly clasped Findon's shoulder as he stood his post, deep in his thoughts. Findon whirled around, hand reaching for his sword sheath and saw none other than the familiar face of Faramir, his captain.

"All well?" Faramir asked as he stood beside Findon, looking out into the east. Findon gave a relieved sigh and relaxed slightly, allowing his arms to fall back to his side before answering.

"All's quiet Captain. Perhaps a little too quiet. The moon sleeps early tonight." At this Faramir gave a slight smile.

"Wish I could too."

Findon shuffled a bit uncomfortably before speaking again, "The night feels restless Captain. It's cold as it rarely is in most any parts of Gondor. The night air feels very ominous."

Faramir merely nodded and walked to stand beside Findon. "I feel it as well. The darkness holds something unforeseen to us. A forewarning perhaps that merits something beyond a mere attempt to get out of watch duty."

Findon grinned and peered back out into the darkness. To say he was lucky to have a captain like Faramir would be an understatement, especially for someone as young as he. It was Faramir who had come to Findon one afternoon nearly eight years ago in Kerac, when Findon had been busy working in the fields, and had asked him to be a Ranger. That had been the most surprising day of his life.

After all, Findon had only seen Faramir once or twice in the ten years between that meeting and the initial one in the forest. But Faramir never truly forgot the boy with his stick bow and had asked his friend, Elder Stanin, to keep an eye on him. Findon had a natural talent for archery and he grew more athletic and muscular over the years, giving him a natural warrior look.

And even with all that, Faramir saw still further and had gauged the quiet thoughtfulness in the boy, as well as the humility and nobility in all his actions, prompting him to ask Findon to join his ranks.

The following years had been tough. Findon was the youngest Ranger to ever serve and he felt more than a little intimidated standing beside the battle-hardened veterans that Faramir commanded. But those days passed quickly, as Findon went through his preliminary trainings. He still remembered walking up to the top of the small hill and, for the first time, looking upon the great city of Minas Tirith. What a sight it was to behold! It was nothing like his home village, with stone-paved streets and tall, immeasurably tall, walls. It was truly riveting for a simple farm boy out of Ithilien. But the initial awe had slowly drained away as Findon, needing to go through the initial training regimen that all raw recruits had to do, soon began to tire of the stone walls and the depressed air that seemed to hang over the White City. He missed the forests and woodlands and the little creeks.

Having never used a sword much in his life, Findon found sparring and the daily sword drills extremely frustrating. But he worked hard, practicing swordplay in what free time that he had, and soon grew to be one of the most competent swordsman in his training company.

And when he completed his training, Faramir was there to give him the customary Ranger garb, the mottled cloak and longbow. More training he still had, as Findon learned the arts of tracking and stealth. But as the years went on, Findon, though still the youngest Ranger by a large span, eventually fit in comfortably amongst his fellow companions, who affectionately called him "Cub."

Findon wrapped the cowl of his cloak more tightly around his neck as the gales blew and thought of his home village of Kerac.

Leaving home had been difficult. He missed the forests that he used to play in and the familiar streets that he used to run through. He missed his mother and his little brother who was pushing twenty-one this coming fall. For the eight years that he had been gone, he had seen his family only twice, for his duties often pulled him far from home.

And finally, above else, he missed Idrial. She had openly cried when Findon had told her he was leaving and the whole time up to his departure. The times when Findon had returned home had been fun, but the last time he had seen Idrial was five years ago.

Findon smiled a bit, reminiscing at all the times he and Idrial had gotten into trouble. He reached behind him and felt his quiver. It was the same one that Idrial had given him all those years ago. He had refused the issued quiver that all Rangers received and had preferred the one that she had given him, though it was old and worn. It was one of his few most treasured possessions, along with the woolen cap that his mother had made for him, the polished stone from his little brother, and the arrow that Faramir gave him eighteen years ago.

And at that last thought, he glanced over at his beloved captain and noticed the uneasy air about him. Though the Captain always liked to check up on his men, Findon guessed that on this particular night, Faramir was not all that well, in the mind if not in body.

"Everything all right, Captain?" Faramir gave a start as Findon suddenly asked.

"As well as things can be I suppose," Faramir replied, turning to look over the campfires that were starting to burn low.

"Ah…I meant everything with yourself perhaps."

At this Faramir gave a small chuckle, "Ah Findon, I can never truly get past you. Why you would put my dear mother to shame, may she rest in peace."

At that he stood silent for a good while before continuing, "I will tell you Findon, for the keenness of your eye and thought are unrivaled. I came up here to clear my mind, for a queer dream has come to me as I lay in a troubled slumber this evening. In that dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the west a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying,

 _Seek for the Sword that was Broken_

 _In Imladris it dwells_

 _There shall be counsels taken_

 _Stronger than Morgul-spells_

 _There shall be shown a token_

 _That Doom is near at hand_

 _For Isildur's Bane shall waken_

 _And the Halfling forth shall stand._

"I have been weighing these words in my thoughts for this past hour, but no sense I can make of them. Perhaps you can shed some light on the matter?"

Findon stood there silently pondering. "One thing is of no doubt. The eastern sky is dark, darker than it has been for a long time. And I should know as well, for I lived under the shadows of the Ephel Duath my whole short life. But of the other words, I can discern them no better than you can Captain."

"It is said that the nameless one in far off Mount Doom can bend even the weather to his will. But the words of this dream-oracle is troubling. I shall have to consult my father. He is wise in all the lore of Gondor," Faramir gave a slight grimace. "More trouble will come before the year is out Findon. _Isildur's Bane_ …?" He trailed off muttering, pacing round the watch tower.

Findon said no word as he watched his captain. The entire company knew, the whole army even, of the rift between the captain and the Steward of Minas Tirith. Much praise was given to his elder brother, the Captain-General Boromir. But of Faramir, his deeds were often accounted to less than his brother's but that was just Faramir's nature. But having to face your father's displeasure for your every action can wear even the hardiest of men down.

Findon walked over and picked up his shield that had stood propped against the wall. Despite his initial distaste in using a sword, Findon now found fighting with a sword and shield surprisingly refreshing. Though he had a natural talent with the bow and arrow, Findon had become enamored with the art of swordplay, ever trying to seek out a sparring partner. Though in battle there was little art but parry, block and thrust, he still preferred a sword in hand in many situations.

The two Rangers looked out into the night again. Daybreak would come soon and the sun should the clouds decide to give a break. In just another week, he would have to leave again, out on another mission. The garrison that manned Osgiliath rotated every few weeks, and when Faramir's Rangers were not being sent on assignments throughout the borders, they would come and relieve the guard in the Citadel of the Stars.

Findon started to turn around when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. The seemingly impenetrable darkness that had filled this night was impenetrable no longer. Out far into the east, Findon saw a tiny speck of light, so dim that he thought perhaps his mind was playing tricks. He rubbed his eyes and peered back and gasped. For it seemed that the tiny speck of light had been almost like a signal, a premonition. Because the east had suddenly filled with hundreds, thousands even, of specks of light.

"Captain! Look!" Findon shook his captain, pulling him out of his deep thoughts. Faramir peered out and gave a startled grunt, eyes widening.

"Torches! Orcs! Findon, go sound the alarm and get the men ready. Send out a messenger to Minas Tirith. Tell them Osgiliath is under attack!"

Findon nodded and sprinted through the door and down the stairs.

Faramir turned back and stared. The torches had lit up the eastern sky. Rows upon rows there were, never seeming to end. And so it was to be, after months of small raids and border fights, Sauron has unleashed his war. The alarm bell suddenly pierced the quiet night.

"Awake! Awake soldiers of Gondor! Battle is at hand!" As Findon ran through the camp, men everywhere were waking, most blurry-eyed and confused. Those who had not been sleeping this late hour sprang to their feet and grabbed their weapons.

Findon looked around the rousing men and saw Coldor, a raw recruit a few years younger than Findon who had served in the company for a mere week.

"Coldor! Take a horse and a message to Minas Tirith. Tell them of our situation and a plea for aid." Coldor nodded swiftly, the previously frightened eyes now replaced by determination, as he hurried to the stables.

"Captain!" Faramir turned as Findon came sprinting back up the tower. "Everything is done."

"Good!" Faramir gave a grim smile. "Let's make them rue the day they ever decided to take our land!" And with that the two sprang down, grabbing their bows and joining the rest of their company, already gathered in the ruined courtyard.

As Faramir bid them to stand ready, Findon gazed one more time at the eastern sky, with clouds as black as a spider nest.

" _Well, if there is to be any more light in the West as the dream said, then it's all onto us now,"_ Findon thought as he pulled Idrial's quiver up and felt it.

The first battle of Osgiliath had begun and with it, the War of the Ring.

And even as the company of Ithilien nocked their first arrows, the cries and snarls of the orcs could be heard. But in the moments afterward came a much more hideous sound. A shrill shriek that pierced the night, accompanied by several others. It was a sound that the Western world had not heard for a long time. And even then, Findon felt his heart stand still.

Nazgul.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings nor any of its characters.

IV

Findon felt as though his ears were about to burst. The terrible shrieking continued on and on and the approaching orc horde continued to charge towards the city. Chaos reigned supreme around him. Men beside him were cowering, some had thrown down their weapons and had started to flee towards the encampment. Faramir was running through the men, shouting and trying to rally his soldiers into a defensive position.

But the onslaught of the Nazgul none could withstand. For in the dead night their power was unmatched. And for the Gondorian soldiers, some just simple farm folk or fishermen, the power of the Black Land had been mostly the story of legend and of a past long gone.

The orc army still approached less than a mile away from the outskirts of the city. By now, Findon could hear the sound of drums and their war horns. Yet, even as they stood, far to the east, the night finally failed and the first tiniest crack of daybreak appeared. The appearance of the light seemed to put back some hope in the troops. That and the valor and captaincy of Faramir, who had been tirelessly rallying his men. And as Faramir ran by like a beacon of hope in an endless sea of darkness, the fleeing men found some hidden reserve of courage and followed their beloved captain.

The company of Ithilien Rangers numbered around three hundred. But they had in support on the eastern side of the city another company of five hundred that had been posted less than a fortnight ago from the Rammas. A paltry force indeed compared to the orcs innumerable that threatened to topple the race of Men. Archers filled up the sentry towers and the rest hurriedly gathered behind the makeshift fortifications and the ruined buildings.

"Alright there Cub?" Findon turned and saw Anborn stand beside him. Ever since Findon had joined the Rangers, Anborn had seemed to take him under his wing. And by now the two had become extremely close, along with their other fellow Ranger Mablung.

Even as that last thought crossed his mind, Findon felt another person come up on his other side. "The rest of these lads might even get to sit back. The three of us alone can make this rabble run in fear eh?" Findon couldn't help but grin, even in this dire situation. Mablung always seemed to find a way to make all his fears go away. The same went for Anborn as well. Perhaps it was because they were veterans and by now were accustomed to the anxiety and nervousness that preceded battle.

The piercing shriek rang loud and clear throughout the ranks once again and all the men shuttered but stood fast as Faramir climbed up onto a pile of rubble to face his men.

"Sons of Gondor! The day has come at last. Mordor has finally showed its hand. Our people, our lands, our country is threatened! But by the White Tree, we shall stand and fight and make it be known, that though Gondor may be beaten down, we will never be broken!

A great cheer erupted as all the men cried out, "Gondor! Gondor!"

"Though we may be walking to our graves, let it be known to all of Middle-Earth the wrath and fury of Gondor!" The roar of the company swelled drowning out the war drums of the approaching army and even the terrible cry of Nazgul. Even the most defeatist soldier had been filled with hope, and that is enough, for hope is what drives Men forward no matter what the outcome may be.

And then a solitary horn blew from somewhere in the depth of the approaching army. Loud and shrill it blew and all the Men of Gondor fell silent. And then as if in answer, there came another note. A deep blare that came from behind their position by the Osgiliath Bridge. Blasting and vibrating through the city walls. And at this all the men turned, for this horn they were familiar with. A yell, followed by cheers, as Findon, Anborn, and Mablung climbed up onto some of the rubble and looked behind them to the river.

Their armor and raiment shined through the daybreak, as three companies of the White Tree, all fashioned in the garb of Minas Tirith, crossed the river. But what truly filled the soldiers with joy was the figure on the horse at the head of the procession.

"Boromir!"

"Boromir!"

"The Captain-General has come!"

Boromir rode up to the encamped soldiers as the reinforcements flooded in to strengthen their comrades on the walls.

"Brother! Never will I jest at your poor grasp of time again! You have come at the most fortuitous moment!" Faramir ran forward through the crowd that had gathered to embrace his brother.

"I had a bit of a premonition. The eastern sky was dark tonight. Thought perhaps I would keep you company, make sure the dark doesn't terrify my little brother. And a good thing I did too!" Boromir laughed and ruffled his brother's hair. The sight of both the sons of the Steward, both renowned, beloved, and at the moment with big grins on their faces, did much to boost the morale of the surrounding soldiers.

Another terrifying shrill rang through.

Boromir's previous laughing face became grim. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked quietly.

Faramir sighed and nodded, "I'm afraid so. We will be hard-pressed to keep the bridge."

And then another sound was heard, another horn. That's when the orc army, half a mile away, broke. Findon, still standing on the rubble, looked on in increasing fear as the orcs charged, sprinting as fast as they could towards the city walls.

"Now soldiers of Gondor!" Faramir bellowed. "Archers fire!"

"Up onto the walls."

"Make ready!"

"So here we go at last," Findon murmured and, with Anborn and Mablung behind him, rushed up one of the sentry towers to get a clear shot.

The orcs had now reached the eastern outskirts of the city. The bows of the Ithilien Rangers were singing, but soon all the arrows were spent. Findon did not know how many shots he made that day, nor did he even notice how many hit their mark. His motions became automatic: draw, fire, shoot, and repeat all in the blink of an eye. And when all his arrows were spent, he slung his bow back and grabbed his shield. The Gondorian archers had made a dent into the approaching army. But it was a tiny dent, so miniscule that in honest opinion no one really saw the difference. But that was neither here nor there.

The orcs charged down the main street leading into the city and clashed into the Gondorian shield wall and all hell broke loose. The Gondorian line faltered and then shattered as men everywhere were fighting, in a desperate struggle to survive.

Findon gave a mighty yell as the three Rangers leapt down from the small sentry tower into the fray. But the fight seemed as hopeless as it ever had. For every orc that he cut down, five more seemed to take its place. Dawn had come at last but with the heavy clouds in the sky, the orcs went on relentlessly, for they were at their most lethal in the gloom. Outnumbered as they were, the men of Gondor had the strength of their two captains, whose aura of hope made such an impact that could not be measured by numbers.

"Findon! Behind you!" Findon, on instinct, ducked, whirled around while slashing his sword. Just in time to cut down a huge Uruk who was a second too late in his stroke that could have taken Findon's head off. He looked and saw that it was Anborn who had called to him.

In the midst of the chaos that surrounded them, Findon had lost track of where his companions were.

"Quick Findon, Mablung is in trouble!"

Findon ran over, standing behind Anborn protecting each other's backs. "What happened to him? Where is he?" He yelled as he blocked another axe stroke. He heard a startled grunt as he whirled around and saw Anborn clutching his leg which all of a sudden at a long, terribly looking, gash and an orc about to give him the final blow. Findon gave a cry of anguish and threw himself into the orc, sending both of them to the ground. With one hand holding back the orc's axe arm, Findon drew his dagger and slit the orc's throat. He scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily and looked wildly about him. But the fighting had already moved past them and grabbing this brief opportunity of respite, Findon rushed back to Anborn and knelt down to dress the wound.

Anborn gave him a rough shove, "What are you doing?" he roared, "stop worrying about me, find Mablung. I'll be fine on my own." But Findon still could not bring himself to move.

"GO!"

Findon said desperately, "Anborn, you are wounded. I won't leave you I can't. There are still thousands of orcs around."

"CUB! Get a hold of yourself! I promise you I will be fine." And that the renewed use of his nickname, Findon snapped back up. Anborn was right. Every moment now brought more and more danger. He took a deep breath and looked up, a new determination in his eyes.

"Alright." Findon looked around once again and saw a small enclave about half his height." Here, come over underneath this rubble here. I will come back for you Anborn. I swear on my life." And then he was off again. Fire had started to spread and huge clouds of smoke and dust hung ominously everywhere he went. As Findon ran down the streets, the screams of dying men and the hideous cry of orcs filled his ears.

"C-Cub," a weak cry brought Findon to a standstill. There was Mablung, in a small courtyard off the street Findon was on, a mere fifty feet away on the ground desperately trying to fend off two huge Uruks.

"Mablung!" Findon cried out and without even thinking, drew his dagger and hurled it across the courtyard, catching one of the Uruks right in the back of the head. The other one turned around in surprise and then saw nothing ever more as the length of Findon's sword had buried itself deep in his chest. He ran over to his fallen friend as Mablung tried to prop himself up against some rubble.

"Mablung, where are you hurt?" Findon asked urgently. Mablung seemed dazed and he was shaking violently.

"Fin-," Mablung broke off as a fit of coughing overtook him. "I have no idea what it was. I was fighting beside the captain. And all of a sudden, we felt a presence that seemed to make our very hearts stand still. And we were all filled with dread. But the orcs seemed to thrive in it and broke through our ranks." And Mablung could say no more as another fit of cough washed over him. Findon felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. First Anborn. He couldn't bear it if he lost both his friends.

Findon patted his friend's back. "Come on, it's not safe here, let's go find the others." The small courtyard was at the moment deserted. The clash of steel and yells of men had diminished. "Where did they go?"

Mablung, regaining his senses a little, replied still a bit dazed, "I have no idea. At one moment, I was fighting beside the captain and some of our other men. And then we all felt that dreadful presence. I can't remember much after that, only confusion for our men had scattered."

"This is not good. We are being pushed back." As Mablung got shakily to his feet, Findon searched the courtyard for whatever spent arrows that could be found. The two cautiously walked out of the courtyard and into the ruined street, filled with craters and smoldering fire.

Findon surveyed up and down the street, "We should head for the river, that's where the captain would be regrouping." Mablung nodded weakly and the two started west at a steady jog, swords drawn and shields up. They glanced behind them frequently, in the case that any orcs should suddenly appear behind them.

Findon had been in Osgiliath frequently, for it was Gondor's primary stronghold on the river, a base for scouts and surveyor parties. The Rangers of Ithilien were often called to the city after their assignments, to rotate with and relieve the current garrison there. And as such, Findon, who even as a child could not bear but to explore every inch of the city, knew the streets like he did the patterns on his quiver.

"It is in the strangest of times that Idrial should suddenly pop into my thoughts," Findon thought to himself bemusedly. Whatever fate awaited him this day, he hoped that Idrial would not be put in too much pain. Nor any of his folk and friends back home.

As they turned the corner onto the street where Findon and Anborn had been, Findon broke out into a run towards massive pile of rubble.

"Anborn! ANBORN!"

"Would you keep it down a bit Fin? Don't want to draw the entire orc horde here now would you?" It was a weak voice, but as Findon finally located his friend, he grinned, beside himself with relief. "What took you so long Cub? I missed my breakfast."

"Ha, had to rescue this oldie here. Then got a bit sidetracked." Findon motioned towards Mablung, who came over onto Anborn's other side, slung his arm over his shoulder to provide his friend with support walking.

"How's your leg faring Anborn? We need to find the others quickly." Findon inquired worriedly.

"I'll live, I'll live. It'll take more than a cut in the leg to get me I'll tell you that for sure." Anborn smiled grimly and the three Rangers started once again to make their way towards the river.

They had gone less than half a mile, before the shouting began to grow again.

"Come on!" Findon shouted. "One last effort my friend." And the three barely took ten steps up the final street that led to the riverfront before an orc suddenly appeared through an alleyway halfway.

"Well well. What do we have here?" The orc hissed out excitedly. "Come on you filthy maggots, we got a spot of company." And suddenly, ten more orcs joined the first and started to laugh and jeer.

"Them are Ranger cloaks," one of the orcs grunted out. "Well? What are we waiting for? Today, we can finally taste Man-flesh." The orcs raised their weapons above their heads and roared with triumph.

"Anborn, will you be alright?" Findon whispered out, never taking his eyes off the band of orcs.

"Haha, this rabble? THIS RABBLE OF FILTH?" Anborn yelled out the last sentence. "Sorry, but you won't be tasting anything today, or ever again for that matter."

At this the orcs let out cries and shouts of fury and mockery. "You are clearly outnumbered you witless Man. Come on, let's get em. We'll make their deaths slowwww. Oh yes, we will enjoy killing you Ranger."

"Ah, but you are clearly outmatched." And to the surprise of the approaching orcs, Findon broke out and charged towards them, Mablung close behind and Anborn further, still struggling with his wounded leg. Findon rammed right into one of the smaller orcs, knocking it to the ground while using his shield to block a stroke from another. It was a spectacle, a performance if you will, of some of the most fantastic swordsmanship ever. The three Rangers weaved, dove, and snaked their ways under the slashes and hacks of their enemies, tearing their way through the orc band like Findon through ham on Yuletide day. Findon lunged and put his sword right through the final orc that remained standing. And as the last of their enemies fell, the three Rangers looked around, panting and bloodied and breathing heavily.

"As I said," Anborn remarked, trying to catch his breath, and grinned, "I reckon the three of us can send the rest of these orcs packing." He slumped to the ground, his face beginning to twist in pain. Findon walked over and helped Anborn to his feet, using his shoulder as a prop.

"Come on old friend, one final effort." With Mablung walking ahead, sword at the ready, the three passed through the archway at the end of the street, arriving at the riverfront. A cry was heard from one of the towers that lined the river.

And with a sudden shout of joy, the three weary men looked up and saw Faramir running out towards them, several Rangers behind him.

"Mablung! Findon! Anborn! We all through you were dead. But gods! One of the sentries saw the three of you get ambushed on this street. And here you all are still standing!" Faramir exclaimed with joy. One of the Rangers came up to Anborn's other side and together, the company walked towards the river. The joy from the reunion quickly went away however.

"We had to pull back. The enemy numbers were too great. We pulled the companies down to the bridge. We have had but a respite. The orcs will gather and in short time, they will come again." Faramir said with a heavy sigh. "We are running out of time."

"What has the Captain-General ordered? Will we abandon Osgiliath so soon?" Mablung asked, voicing the thoughts on everyone's mind.

"We will have to I'm afraid. We lost too many good men. And though we made the orcs pay many times our number, it is losses that we can ill-afford. Like I said, we are running out of time. Come, we are currently deciding on our next course of action." Faramir led the rest into small ring, where many men had gathered, some standing and others sitting along the rubble that lined the area. In the center stood Captain Boromir, looking up as Faramir approached him and asked, "Well?"

Faramir sighed once again and reported with a heavy voice, "The orcs have already began to gather in the Eastern Gardens. They will come soon. Very soon." 

"We have little time." Boromir started to pace back and forth. The two men were silent, until Boromir finally looked up, "The city is lost my brother. We must give it up and retreat back across the river."

"This half of the city is lost I agree. This half. We must move quickly if we are to get everyone across the bridge on time and destroy it." The two brothers looked once more at each other and nodded.

"Sound the retreat. Get the wounded across the bridge first." Boromir was interrupted by the blow of a horn. An orc-horn. "NOW! The enemy approaches once again. Move out!" And all the men leapt to their feet and made their way to the bridge, many helping to carry makeshift stretchers for their wounded friends.

"Boromir, they are coming. We will all be slaughtered here before we can all leave." Faramir told him urgently. "I have made up my mind. I stay to cover our rear. The city was my charge and it has come to this. I will stay, and whomever men should volunteer with me." Boromir stared at his brother for a moment, before nodding slowly and turned to one of his lieutenants, "Amdahir, you have the command. Make sure everyone gets over the bridge safely. Is that clear?" The lieutenant bowed low and quickly took his charge. Boromir turned once more and smiled at his brother. "After all, brothers stick together."

Faramir stared in surprise before exclaiming, "Boromir! The city needs you. Gondor needs you. Get back to our men and get them to safety!"

Boromir shook his head, "Yes, you are right. Gondor needs me. Which is why I stay as well. For this is where I am needed most. The bridge must be destroyed and so may the evil that befell us this day be somewhat lessened." He turned towards Anborn and frowned. "This man is wounded, get him across the river and have someone tend to his leg."

Anborn started to protest before Findon turned and spoke to him. "Anborn my friend, go with the others, you are in no condition to fight any longer. Please." Faramir then interrupted, "Anborn, that is an order." Anborn looked at each of the men before him. And then his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Mablung clapped his friend on the back before turning to Faramir, "Captain, I stay with you. We Rangers stick together."

"And I as well." Findon straightened and said. Faramir looked conflicted before finally sighing and saying somewhat ruefully, "and I'm guessing nothing I say or order will change your minds on this one." Boromir laughed and remarked, "you have stout-hearted men Faramir, good men too."

After making sure that Anborn was safely on his way across the bridge, still cursing and protesting, Findon and Mablung returned to the two Captains.

In the end, over fifty men stayed behind with Boromir and Faramir and as the orcs suddenly crashed through, the end was near. Death was knocking on all their doors. But the fifty Gondorians laughed in the face of death. They would not go to the halls of Mandos running away in fright no. They would die to protect their loved ones and thus spat in the face of death. All around him, the feeble line that the last company drew up had broken. Men were falling fast. But the will of Boromir and Faramir drove them all on. Findon felt his limbs grow leaden. He could no longer feel his arms. His shield was gone, broken in half by a great axe-blow. And yet he fought on, orc after orc fell before him. But the tide was never-ending. No, for Sauron had a mission that day. And even as the orcs continued to charge upon them, Findon felt a great rush of wind crash over him. A force unseen had knocked back all the defenders and as they struggled to get back on their feet, each one felt a wave of dread wash over them. The world had suddenly turned cold and some began to despair. And then it was over.

Boromir gave a mighty yell and like a ray of hope leapt back into the fray, Faramir close behind, giving courage and some form of strength again to those around them. But it was a vain effort. For all but ten men were left standing, and still many kept falling. Findon glanced back and saw Mablung, bloodied and cut but still fighting.

And then a loud boom that shook the very ground. All looked towards the river and saw the mighty bridge of Osgiliath give way and crash down into the mighty Anduin. Their mission was complete. Findon could no longer keep his eyes straight. Everything was blurry. They were pushed back to the cliffs, less than five feet from falling into the watery depths. Only four remained, Boromir, Faramir, Mablung, and himself. They stood close together in a small arc, facing down their foes who had crowded around them.

"Trapped and cornered, filthy scum." A large orc made his way through until he faced the last defenders left.

"Cornered, but trapped is a matter of perspective," Boromir replied and looked each man in the eye. No words were spoken. But understanding was as clear as day.

"We are free. Gondor is free!" And with a shout, the four defenders turned and leapt into the fierce waters of the Anduin.

Findon felt his heart lurch. The fall was impossibly long yet short at the same time. He crashed into the surface and the world turned black.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello! Just a quick thank you for those who took the time to read my little story. If you found fault with it, I do apologize. Reviews would be most appreciated, whether it be criticism or otherwise, just to let me know how I'm doing . Thanks in advance!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings nor any of its characters.

V

Whispers. Bustling. The sound of hooves. The sound of drums. The sound of talking. Each blurred and overlapped all into one. And it was all Findon can remember. That and the soothing voice of a healer as he flitted in and out of consciousness. All his muscles ached and he felt hot all over. Something that seemed to gnaw him on the insides. Findon began to squirm and thrash, only half conscious.

"There, there now lad." A hand was easing him back onto a pillow. "Rest easy." And then he was out of it again. But now the dreams began. He dreamt of Ithilien, of Idrial, of the feeling of being one with the trees. And then the dreams darkened. He dreamt of Ithilien burned. Of Idrial and his family running away, shrieking in terror as the fires consumed them. Of him bended over their dead bodies. But the bodies had transformed. And it was Anborn's body he saw, with Mablung next to him, and then all the bodies of his Ranger friends. The scene changed again. He was standing in a desolate wasteland, the sky black. An orc materialized in front of him, staring menacingly. Another appeared and then another until he was surrounded by an endless sea. They started to close in around him, the air heavy. His tried to breathe, tried to run, and their arms reached out to grab him and -

And with a shout, Findon shot up, sweating profusely and breathing raggedly. He looked around wildly, eyes bloodshot, and then slumped a bit, as the realization sank in that all had been but a dream. He was lying on a small cot inside a large tent. There were several cots situated throughout the small tent space, one or two containing sleeping figures. Through the small flap opening, Findon judged that dawn was not far off.

With a sigh, Findon laid back down. The dream had seemed terrifyingly real. His whirling thoughts only exacerbated the pain in his head, something that he only just now become fully aware of. The flap of the tent gave way and Findon saw an elderly-looking woman bustle in. She noticed Findon awake and walked over.

"Oh good. You are awake at last. How are you feeling?" She bent over to pick up a tub of water that had been next to Findon's bed. "Your fever finally broke last night. For a good while, we'd thought you were lost."

"Last night?" Findon shot back up and stared at her incredulously. "How long have I been out?"

The healer gave a small smile and responded, "Approaching three days now."

Three days! What had happened? He clutched the sides of his aching head, trying desperately to remember. Faramir! That was it. He was holding the bridge with the captain. They were surrounded by the Enemy…and they had jumped…that was right, they had jumped.

"I'm not…dead then?" Findon whispered to himself.

The healer heard him and remarked, "No good sir, you are alive and well. As you should be for we tended to you nonstop for these past days."

Findon sat for a while, letting it all sink in. "Well then my lady, I am extremely, extremely grateful for all your assistance and thank you humbly. I am Findon son of Holstan of the Ithilien Rangers."

The healer looked at him in surprise before the look turned into amusement. "Oh I am no lady Ranger. Just a common healer come to help out for the war. And no need to thank me, I'm only doing my job."

And at this Findon gave a slight grimace, "Ah, just because it's your job does not mean gratitude is unnecessary. And one does not have to be born a noble to be treated with respect." The pain in his head sharpened again as Findon found that sitting up right now was very dizzying indeed.

"Well, well. It is not common at all to meet a man so wise and yet so young. Now, young Ranger, if you would let me continue doing my job, lie back down this instant or all my hard work the past days will be for naught!" She sounded so much like his mother that Findon laid back very meekly without another sound. The healer felt his forehead and gave a nod.

"The fever is gone, well and truly. All you need now is rest. Understand? You are not to return to your duties until you've gotten a week's rest. And no, that is a healer's order." Findon had just opened his mouth to protest before deciding that there was no way he could win this one. Perhaps, he can sneak out sometime, if only to get some fresh air.

"Well, if I am to be bedridden, I would at least like some news. If I may ask, what happened to me? I remember hurtling down into the Anduin. And then nothing."

The healer looked at him disapprovingly but Findon saw a glint of admiration in her eyes. "Men." She muttered. "Of all the reckless things you lads get up too. Yes, you jumped. All four of you. We didn't think to ever find you four again, with how fast the Anduin has been flowing lately. But luckily, the Lord Boromir was spotted first along with another Ranger. But when you didn't resurface, we all thought you drowned, until Lord Faramir dived back underneath again and with a stroke of luck managed to grab your cloak."

Findon was silent for several moments, the information still sinking in. The healer then broke that silence and continued on, "As I said before, the fever then caught you and loth was it to release its hold. But rest easy now, for you are safe as are all your other comrades." The healer smiled gently before starting to walk over to attend to some of the other patients.

"Wait!" Findon sat up again as the healer turned, raising one eyebrow inquiringly. "How badly are they injured? Will they be alright?"

"Fear not young Ranger, all three are in perfect health. A good night's sleep did them all wonders and they're already up and about. Now lie back down and stop your worrying!" The healer turned to go again before looking back and said teasingly, "And I thought I was the old one."

Findon gave a weak grin but at that, his concerns abated slightly. For Mablung and the two sons of Denethor were safe and sound. Still, he felt a bit ashamed with himself for not even being able to handle the river. The other three were already back on their feet while he had been bedridden.

He had been very lucky indeed and all thanks to his brave captain as well for saving his life.

But for now, Findon decided that the healer's advice was great indeed and he promptly cleared his thoughts and fell back asleep once more.

* * *

Findon ended up in the healer's ward for another three days. Three days of sheer boredom and restlessness. After all, sleeping and resting beside, there was little for a man to do. He bugged the healer as much as he could for news or really just someone to talk to. Anborn and Mablung had visited often, bringing the latest tidings as well as keeping him company. Anborn's leg was on the mend though the bandages wouldn't come off until another day or two. He had been most displeased with both Findon and Mablung for, in his words, "abandoning him and almost torn apart and leaving me alone to deal with all the damned filth and etc."

Anborn always did have an excellent grasp of words.

Mablung was silent and looked exhausted for the first couple days as well and Findon asked Anborn about it when Mablung was out of earshot.

"It's the Black Breath Cub." Anborn grimaced. "Just once is bad enough. Makes you feel as if the world had frozen over. But Mablung endured it twice in short succession. Once when the orcs first charged and another at the bridge. _That_ is enough to rattle even the hardiest of men. But don't worry," Anborn added hastily as he saw Findon looking even more alarmed, "some rest and some good food will snap him back in no time. And speaking of food, my stomach seems to be talking again."

Findon merely rolled his eyes and together they went off in search of a meal. The Ithilien Rangers, at the moment, were still stationed in Osgiliath, the western side of course. All the bridges had been destroyed and the Rangers kept watch over their enemy, who could be seen ever so often, prowling the eastern shore.

Half the city was lost, that much was true. But to most of the men, it had been a victory of sorts. The enemy had made the first move and unleashed his war. But for now at least, they were held back thanks to the valiant efforts of their two captains. The wounded were many though and Findon was anxious to leave the hospital ward, insisting that he was fine and that the healers focus their attentions of those who needed it most.

As soon as he had been discharged, Findon had gone straight to Faramir's tent and had found him there pouring over maps and the latest reports.

"Reporting for duty, Captain." Faramir gave a start and looked up to see the grinning face of Findon.

"Findon!" Faramir returned the grin and walked over to clasp wrists. "It's good to see you back on your feet. Gave us all a scare you did!"

"It's good to be back. My thanks Captain. If it had not been for you, I would be at the bottom of the Anduin right now." Findon bowed his head and looked back up.

Faramir waved his thanks aside, "Oh don't mention it. I was very fortunate indeed to have grasped your cloak. But all water under the bridge now," he paused before laughing again, "Literally!"

Findon laughed too before his face became more solemn, "Still though, I shall find it hard to repay you for your deed." They shared a look, full of mutual respect and understanding.

Faramir smiled gently, "Findon, everyone makes mistakes and everyone has things happen to them that are beyond their control. But that's what the company is for. We cover each other's backs and we all move forward together. Now come, there is something that I wish to ask you about." He gestured to an empty chair as he returned to stand behind his desk.

They were silent for a long moment before Faramir spoke again, so softly that Findon almost thought he imagined it.

"The dream I told you on the eve of the attack. It came to me again last night. The same voice with the same mysterious message. I had almost decided to just put the dream behind me, thinking that it was some passing thing. But now, I am not so sure." Faramir trailed off, staring into space and deep in thought.

Findon sat there for a moment before replying solemnly, "Captain, have you consulted anyone else about this dream? Your brother or the lord Steward perhaps?"

Faramir gave a strange smile. "This is where things get even more winded up. My brother had the same dream as well. The same voice. I am quite convinced that this is no passing fancy. Boromir left for Minas Tirith yestereve, gone to consult my father." At this he broke off, as if to refrain himself from speaking of his father.

Findon shifted a bit uncomfortably. He was quite sure what the right words to say were. Faramir looked off and seemed to sense this.

"My apologies Findon. Don't mind me. Here you are all fresh and ready and all I'm doing is passing my own troubles on to you."

Findon widened a bit in surprise before hurriedly reassuring his captain, "No, not at all. I want to help in any way I can. It's just that..well..I haven't the faintest idea what to do I'm afraid." He gave a rueful smile.

Faramir chuckled a bit, "Ah well, enough dream-talk. The healers have cleared you well and truly?"

Findon stood up straight and nodded in the affirmative.

"Well then, welcome back. Let's get you back to work."

* * *

The days passed slowly, a bit anticlimactic after a huge sudden assault. Findon, however, was kept busy most of the time, patrolling the shores, working to bolster Osgiliath's defenses, and helping out the healers by gathering the necessary herbs and remedies. The wounded had been many and as the Houses of Healing had been filled to the brim with patients, many makeshift healer tents had been set up, some in Osgiliath and some at the Causeway Forts on the Rammas.

It was on one of such duties that Findon was just entering one of the tents to deliver herbs when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. For he had seen one of the figures lying on one of the beds. Haden. A fellow Ranger and a good friend of Findon's.

He dropped the herbs he was carrying and ran over to Haden's bedside. The man was bare-chested and thus the multitude of bandages around his torso was visible. There was also bloodied bandages around his head as well as covering one side of his face.

"Haden! Haden old friend it's me." Haden slowly opened his eyes and opened his mouth. But no words came out. It took a moment before Findon realized that his friend was almost choking to get words out.

"C-C-Cub." A violent cough overtook him and he could say no more.

"Haden! Hang on, let me fetch the healers. Rest easy." Findon got up but Haden's hand suddenly shot forwards to grab his hand.

"No. C-Cub. I am dying. My time has come," Haden's words came out slurred. It got steadily fainter and with huge effort he spoke again, "It has been an honor to serve Gondor and the Rangers. Please. Tell that to the Captain."

Findon desperately shook his head. "Haden. No no nonono. You're going to be fine. You're going to live. Please. You have to live," Findon trailed off, his voice becoming shriller and his vision all of a sudden blurred and he realized that tears were falling. He grasped his friend's hand tight with both his own and, though tried with all his efforts, could not stop the steady flow of tears.

"C-Cub. Don't grieve. Death is not an end, but a beginning to a new world," Haden gasped again and his voice was so soft Findon had to lean in to hear. "Life is full of mystery my friend. It gives us its good times and bad times. And I am lucky to have had a life of protecting this realm." Findon gave a weak and watery smile, shaking his head sadly.

"It has been _my_ honor to have had you as a friend. And-" He broke off, grief overwhelming him and tying his tongue.

Haden gave the faintest of smiles, "The world is strange. But we will meet again my brother." His eyes closed and he said no more in the world of the living. Findon sat beside him, head bowed low and tears falling, though less so now. He sat for a long, long time before Anborn and Mablung found him so. They saw Haden lying on the bed and their expressions turned to grief and understanding at Findon's downcast and tear-stricken face.

The three stood there silent before Mablung spoke, "We should bury him out in the fields. No man should have to die on a hospital bed. He was a Ranger, so let us bury him in the wild." The other two nodded silently and together, they took their fallen comrade out of the city and into the fields of Pelennor, where they found a solitary tree on a small hill looking out towards the riverbank.

"Here he shall be laid to rest, guarding the river."

And when the task was finished, Anborn turned towards Findon and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"War is always the time of grief. We never know who will be the next to fall, but he died honorably and valiantly, fighting to protect our realm. Come my friend, he would not have wanted you to waste away in sadness." At this Findon gave a sad nod, his eyes still downcast. Anborn and Mablung began to make their way back to where their horses were tethered. Findon lingered for a moment longer, staring at the grave. "Peace, my friend."

* * *

Midsummer came and went. But the news in Gondor was grim. Everywhere it was told that the Lord Boromir had gone on a mysterious journey, guided by the words of rhyme. With the absence of Gondor's finest warrior, the command and responsibility came down on Faramir. Months passed and still, no word was heard of Boromir's return. Messengers from Rohan reported that Boromir had indeed passed through that land, but that was the extent of these tidings. The Shadow continued to lengthen. The skies above the Mountains of Shadow were as dark as ever and orc activity was increasing. The Captain-General was sorely missed, but Faramir did his best to keep morale up and defend his country.

And so it was fast approaching Yule, when Findon found himself called to Faramir's tent one late night. The Ithilien Rangers were once again stationed in Osgiliath, having returned from a border skirmish near the Harad Road a few weeks ago.

As he shuffled into the Captain's tent, he saw the familiar sight of Faramir sat at his table with reports strewn all over.

"Ah Findon. Come on and have a seat. Would you care for some ale?" Findon accepted the drink with a grateful smile and sat down, muscles sore from the day's duties. He sighed in contentment and looked up at Faramir who in turn gave a slight grin.

"Tough day?"

"The same old, same old. The days are cold. Colder than ever before." Findon gave a grimace as he glanced out the tent before looking back up at Faramir. "How are you faring? All that paperwork wearing you thin yet?" He grinned and gestured towards the mountain of paperwork piled throughout the tent.

Faramir gave a small shudder before saying ruefully, "It has long since become the bane of my life. But come, you are probably wondering why I called you here so far from your bedroll."  
Findon laughed, "The thought did cross my mind."

"We are moving out soon Findon."

The news took Findon back a bit. Normally, companies were stationed at Osgiliath for a month before being transferred. "So soon? What happened? Are we going back to Ithilien?"

Faramir held up his hand to stem the flow of questions. "First off, these reports of increasing numbers of Haradrim marching north has had all the captains worried. They need to be stopped. Or, at the very least hindered. And there are none who knows that particular region better than we Rangers."

Findon nodded thoughtfully. That made sense. The Ithilien Rangers were amongst the most elite companies of Gondor, its stealth, tracking, and mobility near legendary.

"As to the last question Findon. The company sets out at first light two days from now. But you will not be coming with us."

Findon stared at Faramir, not completely comprehending his words. "B-but why? Have I done anything that displeased you Captain? Or…." He broke off. Perhaps the Captain had deemed his services as a Ranger unacceptable. After all, he had grown up a simple farm boy. But no, that can't be it. Could it?

Faramir held up a placating gesture. "No, Findon. Your service has been exemplary as always. It's quite the opposite in fact. You see, I have a special task for you."

"Ah, what is it Captain?" Findon felt anticipation and excitement build up inside of him, his previous self-doubt gone.

"Well, over the past months, Sauron's forces have begun to become more active in Ithilien, much more active. Since his initial attack in June, he's been very quiet, relatively speaking. His armies are growing every day and every day more orcs come through the Black Gate and harass our defenses. Which comes to the topic at hand Findon. This-" Faramir broke off, looking a bit flustered, "This should have been done a long time ago. It's about Kerac." The name of his home village sent Findon's mind into overdrive.

"Captain, has something happened there?" Findon cut in urgently.

Faramir again held up his hand. "No, but that may become a very likely possibility in the future. The task I have for you Findon is for you to go to Kerac and convince and escort all the villagers there to Cair Andros. I know this is your first time solo Findon, but I cannot spare any more men. We are stretched thin. But Kerac is your home village Findon and if there's anyone they can trust and count on, it'll be you."

Returning to Kerac! Now that was something to look forward to, even though the situation they found themselves in was quite dire.

Findon stood up, his face set in a determined line, "Captain, you can count on me. I will not fail."

Faramir smiled and came over to clasp him on the back, "From the first moment I met you all those years ago in the forest, I knew that you were meant for great things. I know you will do your best to get the job done Findon."

Findon flushed and ducked his head, mumbling something incoherent. But he did felt warmed by the captain's praise and bolstered by it as well. If Faramir trusted him to succeed, then succeed he will.

"We leave the morning after tomorrow. We will travel together to Cair Andros and then to Henneth Annun. But after that, we will have to go our separate ways. We shall meet again back here at Osgiliath."

Findon nodded and grinned, "You know, can't say I'm sorry to finally get out of here."

Faramir chuckled at that. "Truer words have never been spoken. Get to bed Findon, you look dead on your feet. We'll talk more tomorrow." They walked out of the tent into the night and stood for a minute admiring the stars.

"I'm going home," Findon thought. "Going home." He would see his family again, Idrial, all his neighbors and people he grew up knowing. And that was a comforting thought. But still, it was his first solo mission after all and he couldn't help but feel daunted by the looming task before him. He shook his head a bit angrily. No, he can't think like that. Let even a worm of doubt in and it'll find its way to shake you to the core. He would get the villagers to safety and out of harm's way, even if it costed him his life.

"Otherwise," He thought grimly, "Idrial would never let me live it down."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings nor any of its characters.

VI

A horse plodded wearily along a well-worn track, head bent low and its movement wavering. The figure that sat on top was no better, his head drooped as well within the folds of his Ranger cloak. Aside from the sound of the wind and the rustling of the grass, all else was silent. The sun was low in the western sky, emitting its last rays of orange and red before it gave way to the rising moon.

The vast expanse of grass stretched forth on both sides of the trail as far as the eye can see with the exception of a few lone trees here and there. The grass had grown tall in some parts, almost reaching the horse's height. But this was Ithilien after all. With the plains and the forests, the vegetation and undergrowth was perfect for both the climate and the region.

It was also just perfect for an ambush.

And a weary traveler at sunset with nothing on his mind but the comforts of food and sleep would make ripe prey indeed.

But this traveler was different. He was a Ranger and Rangers were unlike other people. To a potential observer, the hooded figure's drooped head would have been very inviting for others to catch him off guard and rob him…or kill him. Yet, what they didn't know was that this Ranger, under the cover of his hood, kept an ever-watchful eye on his surroundings, darting quickly around in his field of vision. It was when he was feeling weary did Findon try his hardest to redouble his watchfulness. Trouble always come when one least expects it, the old wise men used to say. It was always good to remember these bits. After all, they didn't become old wise men by letting their guards down when they were young. Best it was then to keep up his vigilance at all times, even when he was exhausted.

 _Especially_ when he was exhausted.

He had set out from Cair Andros in the late morning, along with the rest of his company. They had reached the secret refuge of Henneth Annun by late afternoon and it was there that Findon had parted with his comrades. He had his own mission after all. His first solo assignment. The thought of that gave him a thrill and he was eager to prove himself. He was the youngest of all the Ithilien Rangers after all, and while he had fitted in quite comfortably after his basic training had been complete, there were times when he still felt like the little brother of the group.

He'd be home soon.

 _Home_. Findon hadn't been home in five years. Hadn't seen his family, his friends, or any of the villagers in that time. His duties as a Ranger had kept him extremely busy. Especially since sudden war had broken out in June. The thought filled him with guilt. His poor mother would worry of course, doubly so now that the war began. Letters were infrequent at best as many a time not even a single man could be spared to run courier duty, and the current situation east of the Anduin made any travel dangerous regardless. But when he had woken this morning, the sun was smiling and the clouds kept their distance, a good omen to start off the day, especially the day that began their quest.

Findon shifted a bit in his saddle. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his fluttering stomach. The thought of going home filled him with excitement and nervousness at the same time. How much would have changed? Was Kerac still the same sleepy village he had known all his life? War changes things, some for the better and some for the worse. And some…well...some things just change, as simple as that. Findon shook his head in frustration, trying to clear his thoughts. What could would it serve him to worry right now? He would arrive when he would arrive and Kerac will be what it will be. Worrying right now would accomplish nothing other than to distract him. And it wouldn't do for a Ranger to be taken by surprise and shot dead while his mind was leagues elsewhere.

A sudden urge grasped him however, and he clasped the reins and tapped his horse with his foot. The horse sensed a change in his rider's bearing and as swiftly as the eagle flies, they were off again at a gallop. Any fatigue had fallen away and both horse and rider were eager to reach their journey's end as they rode off into the east.

* * *

Evening fell. The sun had gone to sleep a short while ago. The stars twinkled overhead in the sky, oblivious to those on Middle-Earth who admired them from below. Findon walked into the familiar woods that surrounded his village, deciding a while back to dismount and was now leading his tired companion by the reins. It was good to be back in the forest again. Memories began to trickle back into his head: memories of him as a boy having his own adventures, not having a care in the world. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

It wasn't long before he was nearing the very same clearing where he and Idrial had met Faramir all those years back. A sudden thought came to him. Was the old fort that he had played in when he was a kid still standing? He stood still for a minute, indecision plaguing his mind. Well, he was already here. He had waited five years to come back home. He can wait just a few minutes more. He started walking in the direction of where the tree house had once stood. After all, this would give him a chance to collect his thoughts and spend some time alone with his memories, even if it was just for a minute, before he reunited with his fellow villagers.

As he neared the old oak tree, he saw the same frayed rope ladder that led up into the wooden house above. Grinning, he grasped the rope firmly and began to climb. At least some things never change it seems, he thought happily. As he approached the entrance, he suddenly realized that something was a bit off. Perhaps it was how the night air felt. Or perhaps it was some instinctual feeling, some sixth sense. He cautiously began to climb again and upon reaching the top, peeked inside the little outpost. There were small windows on all four sides of the tree house and he saw that it was empty from the light that filtered in.

And with a sigh of relief, he hauled himself completely up and made to stand by the windows. He inhaled the forest air and a smile graced his lips. It truly was good to be back.

And then there was a small thud behind him and a light gasp that was quickly stifled. Findon whirled around and drew his sword, eyes darting back and forth until he made out a dark figure in the corner of the tree house that had been unnoticed earlier.

Findon silently cursed himself for his stupidity. How could he have missed that? Some Ranger he was.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" Findon's voice rang clear, having not even a tremor. The figure slowly stood and edged to the side, keeping his back to the walls.

Findon slowly advanced, until the figure spoke, "D-don't you dare come any closer or I'll gut you halfway to Mordor." The voice was female and though there was more than a hint of fear in it, the venom had taken Findon aback.

"I mean you no harm," Findon said slowly and calmly as if trying to placate an angry dragon, "I am an Ithilien Ranger." He held up his hand in a placating gesture and slightly lowered his sword, but still keeping it steady and his guard up. She had to be one of the villagers, he realized. It has been often said that no servant of Sauron has ever laid eyes on the village of Kerac, for the dense woodland that surrounded it was a labyrinth of trees, cliffs, and undergrowth. And if the mere presence of this mysterious woman had not surprised Findon enough that night, the next word she spoke certainly did.

"F-Findon?"

Findon's mouth dropped and he almost dropped his sword. The figure stepped out in front of the window and moonlight draped across her face. It was a young woman, with long hair that went past her shoulders. The face was achingly familiar and the voice, once it had lost its venom, was unmistakable.

"Idrial?" Findon's voice was hushed as he stared disbelievingly. His sword finally dropped as all of a sudden something had tackled him and arms encircling him. "Idrial," He breathed and slowly wrapped his own arms around her and rested his head on top of hers. Idrial was sniffling and soon tears began to flow in earnest as she tightened her hold on him and buried her head into Findon's chest.

Findon said nothing for a while, just softly patting her back and stroking her hair until the sobs subsided into a hiccup and sniffles.

"It's all going to be okay Idrial. Everything. Don't cry Idrial," Findon whispered soothingly.

"I'm sorry," Idrial's voice was muffled as she spoke, her head still buried in Findon's chest. "Here you are finally back home and I had to go cry all over you." She broke off giving a watery chuckle before saying, so softly that Findon barely caught it, "I missed you."

Findon's heart gave a little lurch but he pushed it aside, saying comfortingly, "I missed you too Idrial. You don't have to be sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry. I couldn't find the time to come back sooner and I never could get around to writing very frequently. I've been a terrible friend to you." The words just spilled out of Findon, for on top of all his excitement to go home he still felt underneath a pang of guilt for being away so long without word. He had been worrying about that a lot, no matter how much he told himself not to. But then, Findon realized bemusedly, everything seems to come out in the end when Idrial's here. It just seemed natural.

At this, Idrial lifted her head back and for the first time in five years, looked at her friend face-to-face, "No, I don't blame you at all. Of course you couldn't come. You were needed, you had your own duties to keep the rest of us safe. It's not your fault in the slightest. I just-" she broke off and looked down, "just worried a lot. Your mother and brother too. Oh Findon! You had no idea! With all the news we had been receiving, none of us knew if you were even still alive and-." Findon pulled her back into a tight hug and she stopped, dissolving into silent tears once more.

"I know, I know," Findon's voice was pained, "I wish the circumstances were different, but they are what they are. A very wise man I met once told me that life is neither fair nor unfair, but it's what we make of it that truly matters." Idrial gave another watery chuckle.

"Someone became a scholar while he was away."

Findon merely grinned, glad that the despair was gone from her voice and humor had replaced it. Just like the Idrial he always knew. The two stood in their embrace for a little while longer silent. Not an awkward silence but a comfortable one, content just to be reunited. Before long, the two slowly made their way to the entrance and made their way down and back to where Findon had tethered his horse.

"So why were you up there this late anyways," Findon asked as he loosened the rope he had tied to a tree.

Idrial felt her face grow warm and ducked her head a bit, though in the night, neither could see. "Oh, I go there every couple nights to get away from everything I suppose. It made me remember all the fun times we had," Idrial trailed off.

"Ah," Findon said, but didn't pursue the subject much further. "How has the village been faring? How's my family?"

And glad of the change in subject, Idrial went off again, filling Findon in on all the little things that had happened, all the latest village gossip. He was glad to learn that his brother Andar, who was pushing the age of twenty-one, had taken over many of the tasks that Findon had used to do and that his family was faring well. Elder Stanin's waistline had grown so much that the village tailor had to make a special belt size just for him. The two continued to walk, laughing and catching up on the little silly things that had happened. Things, Findon mused contentedly, that made the war seem so distant.

The two neared the village gate. Even in the dark, Findon still recognized the different houses that dotted the area.

"What a surprise Ma will get," Findon said happily. Idrial smiled beside him and there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Let's give her a real surprise then," she grinned, "you stay back behind me where she can't see and I'll knock on the door." The two approached Findon's house, the outside just as he had remembered it. Idrial gave the door a rappel. There was a moment of silence before footsteps were heard and the door opened to reveal Galwain, Findon's mother.

"Idrial! Come in, come in. We were just about to have dinner. Come join us!" Findon had stayed back in the shadows and his smile got bigger. His mother hadn't changed a bit. Though there were a few more lines on her face, the past five years had barely left its mark.

"Oh thanks so much Galwain, I didn't mean to disturb you. Would you have a place for one more? I have a friend who decided to tag along today," Idrial said innocently, a smile threatening to break.

"Oh! Well no problem at all! Is he here? Is it a he, Idrial?" Galwain said a bit teasingly. Idrial flushed again at Galwain's tone, before stepping inside and made way for Findon.

"It's a he and if I do believe, you know him quite well," the smile finally broke through on Idrial's face as Galwain was taken aback.

"Oh?" She craned her head back out the door. Findon decided that that was his cue and stepped forth into the light.

"Ma'am," Findon bowed with a huge grin on his face, "I believe we've met before?"

* * *

Sunlight poured into the room as Findon opened his eyes. For a moment, he thought he was back at Cair Andros, before all the events of yesterday caught up with him. He was in his own bed again, in his own room. His mother and brother had been shocked speechless when he had revealed himself, before launching at him much like Idrial had done. They had been worried sick after all. The four had stayed long into the night talking, before Idrial had taken her leave and said she had to get home. The three would have stayed much longer until Findon had let out a huge yawn, the day finally catching up to him. His mother had ordered him to bed right after, not taking no for an answer. Findon laid there for a moment, taking everything in, before sitting up and getting out of bed. It was still a little bit after dawn, but he supposed soldier life asserted itself. Sleeping in just didn't feel right anymore. With a contented smile, Findon got dressed quickly and went to start the day.

* * *

The sound of laughter, music, and singing filled the evening air. It was the night before Yuletide Day and the harvest that fall had been bountiful for the villagers. That, in addition to the return of one of their own, had warranted a feast. A celebration that filled the large village square. Every single person was present and Findon found himself besieged by an endless stream of people, eager to welcome him back and talk to him once more. He sat with his mother on one side and Elder Stanin on the other, conversing happily with one person after another.

After breakfast that morning, he had gone straight to Elder Stanin at the town hall, stopping on the way to greet the dumbfounded villagers. After all, he still had a mission to complete. After the initial joy and greetings were over, the Elder, along with his council of advisors that comprised of many of elder farmers of the village, sat with Findon for a long time as Findon went over what he had been sent here to do. With war breaking out last June, Ithilien was becoming more dangerous than ever. The villagers had to get to safety and that meant fleeing to Cair Andros first. Several of the men had protested abandoning their homes, before Findon told them of the tens of thousands of Easterlings and Southrons that had been seen marching through the Black Gate. Kerac may have been hidden before, but with full war unleashed from Mordor, nowhere east of the Anduin was safe.

After several hours of debate and discussion, it was decided. The Elder had made his announcement to the entire village that they were to pack their essential belongings and make ready to leave by morning the next day. But not before of course, throwing this huge party to celebrate Yule, Findon's homecoming, and their last night at home for a while.

Findon was besieged also by an endless stream of dance requests and he found himself dancing until his legs were wobbly. He had never had much time for girls really. From growing up as mostly an outsider as a child to fighting orcs for the past eight years, Findon found himself tongue-tied and more than a bit uncomfortable as all the pretty girls kept fighting for his attention. Because unbeknownst to him, all felt a sense of awe around him, for he was the youngest Ranger in all of Gondor and there was a sense of hero worship, especially amongst the younger children. Findon had taken the dances all in stride, but after a while, he begged off, claiming that he needed a moment to catch a breather. He collapsed in his seat next to his mother, who gave him a smirked at him teasingly before she whispered a bit worriedly, "Have you seen Idrial anywhere?"

Findon realized that he had not, in fact, seen Idrial all evening and wondered where she was. He strained his neck and looked around the large square, but the large crowd of dancing villagers, running children, and general activity made it impossible to look very far.

"I'll go see what she's up to," and with weariness forgotten, Findon set off in search of his friend.

* * *

Idrial gave a little sigh. The party was in full swing all around her, but she could not shrug off the small feeling of depression. She had not seen Findon all day and had just been about to go talk to him at the feast before he was whisked away by all the well-wishers. She had never felt at ease at events like these. All the other young women couldn't wait to dress up and dance. She saw her friend whisked away again, this time by the seemingly endless line of girls wanting to dance with the handsome Ranger.

Handsome? Now where had that come from? But if she was being honest with herself as she watched her friend cut across the dance floor, he was far from the little boy who had left home. He was taller now, his shoulders broadened and muscles hardened from his life as a soldier. And that was the crux of it. War changes people. The Findon that returned was no longer the adventurous, carefree boy she had known, but now a man grown. Oh sure, she could still see the boy inside him now but it was a long shot from all those years ago.

She saw Findon dancing with one girl after another and couldn't help but feel saddened. He was a village hero after all. With all the beautiful girls clamoring about him, why should he pay her any attention? Her eyes watered a bit before she hastily wiped them, looking around and was relieved that everyone around her was busy merrymaking. Maybe she should just leave. Make some excuse to her parents. Or not. She could just slip away and nobody would be the wiser. With one last look at Findon, she sighed and turned towards the forest and slipped away.

* * *

Findon wound his way around the throng of people, trying to politely get away from all the people trying to toast him and dance with him as he passed. He had finally saw Idrial at the edge of the square sitting alone and then saw her walk away in the direction of the forest. For a moment, he wondered if he should follow her. Perhaps she was busy with something or had just forgotten something at home. Or perhaps she wanted to be alone…

He tried to make sense of his confused thoughts. After waiting around and seeing that Idrial still hadn't returned, he decided to go find her. Findon looked around the square once more and when he was sure no one was looking, slipped off towards Idrial's house, all the while grateful for his Ranger stealthiness.

After knocking on her door for several minutes, Findon walked back out onto the street and wondered where she could've gone. The forest was the only logical answer, but where exactly though? He thought of all the places he and Idrial had played in.

"Well that doesn't help much," he thought wryly. That just about covers the entire forest. He walked on aimlessly, lost in thought, until he found himself once again in the clearing he had walked past last night. The old treehouse? It was worth a try anyway and Idrial did mention that she went there a lot, especially at night…

He located the oak tree with the old rope ladder and began to climb. He peeked his head over the top and sure enough, his hunch had been right, for there was Idrial, sitting in front of the window, staring out into the east.

"Idrial," Findon said softly as he pulled himself up onto the floor. She gave a little jump and turned around. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Findon? What are you doing here? I thought you were at the party."

Findon walked over to where she was sitting. "Well I was but then I saw you leave and wondered if something was wrong." Idrial stared at him wordlessly before she turned again out the window.

Neither of them spoke for a while, but Findon could feel the air thick with tension. Which meant something was very off indeed for things had never ever been strained between the two of them.

Findon crouched down a little and spoke softly, "Would you mind if I sat with you?" Idrial merely nodded, eyes fixed on the shining stars. And so Findon sat, only a foot separating the two, and stared out of the window as well. The expanse of forest that stretched out was vast, but he could see the end just barely. And behind that loomed the Mountains of Shadow.

Feeling ill at ease, but determined to know what was bothering his friend, for it was unmistakable that _something_ was, Findon broke the silence that had fallen again between them.

"Idrial…Idrial, why did you leave the feast? Did something happen to you?" Findon's voice was gentle but laced with worry. At first, he thought that perhaps she hadn't heard him, but then she replied, "It-it was nothing. You know that these parties aren't my thing." Findon nodded, but deep down he was unconvinced.

"Why did you leave? I don't want to keep you here. I'll be fine on my own. You looked like you were having fun dancing," Idrial tried to keep her voice light, but she wasn't sure if she managed it.

Findon just smiled a bit wryly, "You know it's not my thing either. I can't tell you how horrifying it was dancing with people I haven't seen in years. And don't you worry a bit. I'd rather be here with you than anything right now." The words came out before Findon knew what he was thinking. He hastily looked away flushed, silently berating himself once again for putting his foot in it.

Idrial looked over at her friend, eyes gazing at the Ranger in wonder. "R-really?"

Findon turned towards her again and saw something in her eyes, a hopeful gleam was it? "Of course! I haven't seen you in five years," his voice caught a bit then, "there isn't anyone else I'd rather be with right now."

Idrial felt her insides glow at Findon's words and her eyes began to water. Findon noticed and instantly exclaimed, "Idrial! I'm—I'm sorry. Did I upset you somehow? I'm sorry. It's my mouth. I always talk before I think of anything."

Idrial quickly broke him off, "NO! Findon, you did nothing wrong. You just made me really happy!"

"R-really?" Idrial nodded and understanding and relief dawned on Findon's face.

She slowly turned back facing the window. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this. I just-just thought you'd f-forgotten about me," her soft voice trailed off at the end almost to a whimper. And that tugged at Findon's heartstrings. He stared incredulously at her. How stupid had he been? He was so occupied at the dance he hadn't even realized if not for his mother.

"Idrial," Findon scooched over and, hesitantly at first, put one arm around her shoulder. She sank into his embrace, slowly reaching out and wrapping her own arms around his torso. They stayed silent for a while, reveling in the comfort each provided the other, feeling warm and just natural in each other's arms, though neither acknowledged it.

"Idrial," Findon said comfortingly, "I could never forget you. I'm sorry. I was so occupied at the feast and with the other villagers. It's no excuse and if you're upset with me you have every right to be. But I want you to know that you are still my best friend. There's no one else in the world that I'd rather spend time with than you. Every single day I was away, I thought about how you were doing, how my family was doing." And with every word Findon spoke, he realized more and more just how much it meant to him. "I still have the quiver you gave me. I refused the standard Ranger issue they gave me." He unslung his quiver from his back. He had picked it up on his way to Idrial's house, just in case he needed it. A Ranger was never far from his weapons.

Idrial raised her head from Findon's shoulder and saw the same, worn, homemade quiver that she had given Findon for his tenth birthday. And for the first time in a long, long time, she felt truly happy. Her insides felt warm and her heart was singing. Never mind the ominous day that awaited them tomorrow. Just for tonight, she can feel happy.

"Findon," Idrial's voice was raw from emotion and she could say nothing more other than to wrap her arms more tightly around him.

"Fin?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think-" Idrial hesitated slightly, "do you think we can stay here for a little while longer? I'm not quite ready to go back to the party." She looked at him with big, round eyes, a slightly pleading look in them and Findon couldn't have found the heart to refuse even if he wanted to.

"Not a problem at all." His arms tightened around her and her arms did the same. They felt utterly content and happy, surrounded by warmth and comfort, just by being with one another. And so they sat in each other's embrace, neither wishing for the moment to end, long into the night before they slowly drifted off to sleep. In their little treehouse. In their own little world.

"It was just like when they were little kids," Findon thought sleepily. Some things never change.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hello. Thanks again to those of you who took the time to read this! If you can spare the time, please leave a review just to let me know how I'm doing .

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings nor any of its characters.

VII

There was nothing quite like the moments before a journey, Findon thought as he watched the bustle of activity that surrounded him. It was moments like these that made you think. Who knew what the day would bring and the unknown is what truly gets the blood racing, no matter how depressing it may seem. Dawn was close. But the villagers, most simple farm folk used to being up before the sun rose, were already up and about, packing extra provisions of food and warm blankets for the journey ahead. Most of the villagers had already gathered at the west gate. The village itself boasted only a few horses, so the majority of the journey would be spent on foot.

Findon sat upon the top of his horse, silently surveying the gathered people. There were children, a few sick folk, and the elderly. It was already becoming a worrying situation. It had taken Findon almost 14 hours of straight riding, with only two brief stops in between, to travel from the isle of Cair Andros to Kerac. But now, he reckoned that it would be at least three days before they reached safe haven. They were on foot and they were slow. A lot can happen in that time. He was one man. Sure, when danger came, the able-bodied villagers would stand beside him, but it wasn't that simple. After all, they were mere farm folk. They had no real battle experience and should they meet say a company of Uruks…well, Findon did not like to dwell on that possibility.

His mother and brother stood amongst the gathered, making some last-minute checkups and lending the occasional hand to a neighbor. Further down, he saw Idrial bustling about with her parents. He briefly caught her eye and they smiled at each other. Findon wasn't quite sure what had changed between them, but something definitely had. They had both fallen asleep in the treehouse the night before. Findon had awoken past midnight and had found them curled up against each other in the cold. Groggily, he had thought about carrying Idrial back to her home but Idrial's warmth lulled him back to sleep and he couldn't find the will to get up. The next thing he knew, it was almost daybreak and he had quickly woken Idrial and the two had rushed back to the village to start to get ready.

Findon sat there for a moment, almost spaced out, as his eyes followed his friend. She looked very pretty today, he thought absently, before he was jostled out of his thoughts by Elder Stanin, who walked up to him with two of the elders behind him.

"Findon," he hailed, "it's a good day for a journey. A good day."

"Aye," Findon agreed. But Stanin then lowered his voice and spoke again.

"It's not gonna be easy, is it? We're going to be quite slow I'm afraid. The roads are getting dangerous."

And that, Findon thought, brought them back to the crux of the matter. He had been pondering their situation ever since he had been awake. There was a large expanse of plains that lay in between. Their travel wouldn't be too overly difficult…unless they met unwelcome company. There would be no place to hide, no place to run in the wide, open fields of Ithilien. They would be cut down. There were some patches of woodland, but they were sparse at best.

He looked down at Elder Stanin once more and saw his distress mirrored onto the older man's face. He shook his head and gave a confident smile.

"Do not worry Elder, whatever comes our way we will meet it the best we can." And a booming laugh escaped the Elder.

"Us villagers are made of very stern stuff. We will meet them indeed!" And just like that, the depressing air lifted as the villagers gave a great cheer.

Findon smiled quietly to himself. His outer show of confidence belied his inner uncertainty but it had worked. He was their guide, their leader on this journey. If the villagers saw him uncertain, it would seriously damage their morale, their will to keep going. And suddenly, Findon realized that the lives of the people of Kerac were in his hands now. They trusted him because he was one of their own and that strengthened his own resolve. No, they would make it in one piece. He would make sure of it.

Findon dismounted and gestured to the two elders standing beside the Elder. They stared back confusedly before he elaborated, "here, you can double up on my horse."

He noted the surprise that jumped into all their eyes.

"Findon, you are our guide, you need your horse. Besides, it wouldn't be proper," Elder Stanin tried to explain.

And at that, Findon was made speechless for a moment. "Proper? I'm not a lord, Elder. I'm a Ranger and a common farmer out of Ithilien. And by White Tree, I will not be riding a horse while there are those who need it more than I."

Again, the three were taken aback but now, there was a hint of respect in their eyes. It was the Elder who answered again, speaking so that only Findon alone can hear him, "What if we're attacked Findon? You are going to have to be our eyes, I'm afraid."

He presented a valid point. Findon would need to scout the lands both ahead and behind, to ensure that they wouldn't be taken by surprise. But still, he remained adamant.

"I'm aware of that, but I need no steed for that. I will run and that will have to suffice. Besides, the enemy will not spot me as easily as he would if I were on top of a horse. Please, take him. He is a sturdy mount and he will not falter." And they finally relented.

"It seems that everyone's almost ready," Findon said quietly as he watched the last stragglers walk up to the gate.

"Aye," the Elder replied and then raising his voice to address the crowd, "The journey begins my friends!" Another cheer rose and slowly, the hidden village of Kerac emptied, just as the sun awoke far in the east.

* * *

"That was a very noble thing you did," Galwain said conversationally. The long line of people had just cleared the edge of the woodland that surrounded their home.

"What thing?" Findon asked curiously, striding beside her.

Galwain glanced at him, her eyes had an approving look in them. "Giving your horse up. It was a small act, but it's these small acts that people remember."

Findon flushed at his mother's praise for she didn't give it out often. "It was the right thing to do. Nothing noble about."

Galwain merely cocked her head to the side, "Many in the same situation would not have done the same."

Findon gave a small chuckle as he replied, "Perhaps I'm just not like other people." His face grew serious as he looked out into the plains that stretched before them.

"This is not going to be easy." It was the first time he had outwardly voiced his concern. And all of a sudden, he felt like a little boy again, going to his mother for safety and comfort. Perhaps he should have felt ashamed, but he wasn't. Fear was nothing to be ashamed of, only if you let it conquer you.

"No. But nothing ever is in life. It's a daunting task that Faramir gave you. But you are no longer the small boy who used to give us all no end in headaches," Galwain said affectionately, "You've grown much over the last few years. I may not fully understand what comes on in the high lords' minds, but I know this. The Lord Faramir is no fool. He picked you for this task, _you_ Findon. He has complete faith in you to succeed. _I_ have complete faith in you. You are my son and I know you will do whatever it takes to see us to safety."

* * *

"Hail Findon, son of Holstan."

A young man walked up to where Findon knelt on the top of a small hill. He had been looking out into the east, searching the land for any signs of the enemy. The man was about the same age as he was, if not a bit older.

"Elder Stanin has sent me to you. He thought that perhaps you may require a bit of assistance."

Findon was taken aback, but nevertheless grateful to the Elder.

"Oh, well then well met friend. I could certainly use it." The other man stared at him a bit before laughing, "Findon, you don't recognize me?"

Findon stared, confused. He was slightly taller than Findon and well-built, no doubt from the toil of farm work. His hair was the classic brown that most Gondorians had. He looked very familiar and something stirred within his memories. His memories as a young boy…

"No way," he whispered as the light of recognition dawned on his features, "Tobold?"

The huge grin that sprang on the other man's face was answer enough.

"Haha, well met indeed my friend," and to Findon's utter surprise, Tobold pulled him into an embrace. The two had never gotten along well. Findon remembered the other boy as somewhat of a bully, terrorizing his younger days with his gang of followers. He had not seen him for many long years. The brief times he had come home had not been long enough for them to cross paths. Nor really had Tobold been on his mind much. He had almost forgotten about him.

Tobold pulled back and seemed to understand what was going through Findon's mind for a somewhat apologetic look crossed his face.

"We've never been friends Findon. I -" he broke off a bit, one hand scratching the back of his head sheepishly, "I'll admit I've never been the friendliest back when we were younger. Lot of my friends went and joined the garrisons. I would have as well but my family needed me. Things have been tough ever since father passed away from fever and my siblings and mother needed me."

Findon felt a pang of sadness. He had known Tobold's father, though not as well, and he had been an honorable man, no matter what his opinion of his son had been.

"I'm sorry, he was a good man," Findon remarked softly.

Tobold blinked rapidly as if to brush away incoming tears, "Aye." His voice sounded almost broken but then it returned back to normal again as he continued.

"I think that, along with all the news about the war, was when I finally decided to open my eyes. I'm a proud man, but now I know that pride has its own place at its own time. I'm not that prideful that it borders upon foolishness and I know when I'm wrong." He broke off, once again scratching the back of his head, not meeting Findon's eyes.

Findon was silent but he detected nothing but honesty in Tobold's voice. And after all, he reflected, life is too short for grudges. Nothing seemed that important when there were about a hundred thousand orcs on the doorstep of your home.

"Think nothing of it. All water under the bridge now," Findon grinned and held out his hand. Tobold smiled in relief and they grasped forearms, looking at each other with a newfound respect and admiration.

"Now then, as I remember only too well, I'm nowhere near as good a shot as you, but I decent with a sword," those words, used to be spoken in anger or bitterness, were now tinged with jest as Tobold grinned at Findon.

Findon smiled once more, "No problem. Now here's what I have in mind…"

* * *

It was nearing sunset when Findon decided to halt their advances for the day. They had passed Henneth Annun near midday, stopping to refill their waterskins in the streams that led to the refuge. They had not seen a single soul along the way and that continued into the afternoon. Findon had decided to make a beeline straight for the Anduin, getting as far west as he could before turning north. That way, they would only need to cover their eastern flank should any trouble befall them.

Findon studied the land around them. They were in a sparse stretch of trees that provided them with an ample screen from observing eyes. It was as good of a place to set up camp as any and he decided to take advantage of that.

Everyone was tired, especially the little ones, Findon observed. He had spent much of the day staying ahead of the villagers, scouting the land while at the same time leading them through various shortcuts or detours that he had picked up over the years. Tobold had found some other willing hands amongst the villagers and together, they spread out forming a large screen that covered all sides of the travelling group. Granted, they weren't the most skilled trackers or scouts, but in the plains with only the occasional hill, not much skill was required. They had sharp eyes and, most importantly, a willing heart. Findon had told them to come straight to him if anything was spotted and so far their luck had been good.

The villagers were tired but still in good spirits and Findon grudgingly allowed them to start a couple campfires provided that they were small and that it was put out quickly after they finished with it. No matter how safe it seemed, it would never do to let one's guard down and Findon was no fool.

The villagers ate quickly and most went to their bedrolls early. They had come up with a nightly roster for guard duty, with four men to stand covering the entirety of the eastern side. Findon had volunteered for the first watch and as the night grew old and the camp became quiet, he walked a little ways off and climbed up to sit on top of a tree branch.

It had been a long day. He leaned back and stared at the night sky. The moon shone back brightly without a care in the world. It was funny how many times he had stared up at the same moon, each time at a different spot in the world.

"Findon?" A soft whisper pierced his thoughts and he looked down to see Idrial looking for him. She paused at the edge of the camp, hesitant to go out all alone.

"Up here," Findon called down softly and he saw her eyes brighten as they searched the trees for him. Findon nimbly climbed back down to where she stood standing. They had not talked at all that day as Findon was kept occupied at the head of the group. For a moment, neither said anything, until Findon broke the silence.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Idrial nodded and stared down at her feet. "Am I bothering you?" she suddenly blurted out. "I'm sorry, I thought—it's nothing, I just-" she turned and made as if to run back to the campsite.

Findon shot out and grabbed her arm before she could go. "Idrial! What are you talking about? Is something wrong? You are never a bother to me. Don't go yet. Please." A slightly pleading tone crept into his voice and Idrial's eyes rose to meet his once more and gave a tiny nod. When he was convinced that she wasn't going to run, he slowly released his hold on her arm, but not before tugging her hand and saying, "Come on. You wanna come sit with me up there?" He gave a small grin and pointed at the tree. His grin widened when he saw Idrial give a small smile.

"I was kinda hoping you would offer," she said shyly. And together, they climbed up onto one of the thick branches and sat side-by-side, looking out into the river with their feet dangling underneath.

"How was the journey today?" Findon asked after a while.

"It was tiring but at the same time nice in a way. I haven't been outside the village in a long time. It's good to see the rest of the world again."

Findon realized that, with the current state of things, the villagers would not have left the safeties of the forest for quite a while indeed.

"I've never seen the Anduin before," Idrial said again wistfully, "it seems so calm, yet threatening in a way."

Findon gave a small snort, "Oh believe me, it's anything but calm."

And when Idrial gave him a questioning look, Findon told her of the sudden attack on Osgiliath, of the desperate last stand, and of how the remaining survivors had jumped. She was a very attentive listener. Eyes fixed on him as if nothing in the world could have torn her attention away from his tale. And when he finished, Idrial slid a bit closer to him and wrapped her arms around him.

"You almost died," she breathed out. Her voice caught and she could say no more.

"Yes. And for a while I thought I did. But I was lucky. Lucky to have a captain like Faramir. Lucky to have come back to see you once more." Her grip tightened around him and he found himself absently resting his head onto hers.

They were silent then, until Idrial hesitantly spoke once more. "Findon? I'm sorry I kept you last night. I-" Idrial broke off. It had been bothering her all day. She didn't want him to think of her as a burden or worse. But at the same time, she remembered how well she had slept with his arms around her. She had felt safe and warm and it just felt natural.

Findon sensed her inner turmoil. "Is that what you meant by you being a burden? Idrial…Idrial, I love every moment I spend with you. Don't ever think that of yourself and besides," he looked her in the eye with a small grin, "it was the best sleep I've gotten in a long long time." Idrial blushed but she felt as if a great weight had been lifted off her with those words. She signed happily and laid her head on his shoulder once more. Findon always knew how to cheer her up. Yes, he had been away for a long time, and Idrial had thought that perhaps his personality would have changed. But it hadn't. Sure, he was more solemn at times now but his core was still the same and he was still Findon. And that was all Idrial needed.

They stared at the flowing river until Findon heard Idrial's soft, even breathing and saw that she was asleep. The long day had finally caught up with her. Findon gently shook her, reluctant to wake her up but knowing that sleeping in a tree would not be comfortable.

"Idrial. Idrial, let's take you back to the campsite," he whispered gently, "you'll be more comfortable."

Idrial mumbled and gave a soft protest. "You're comfortable. Let me stay with you again? Please?" Her half-closed eyes silently pleaded with him and Findon found that he didn't particular want her to leave.

He smiled and simply said, "Of course." Her face beamed at him and once more he felt his heart give a small tug. He scooted over to give her more room but Idrial clung on to him. He swung his legs up so that they were resting on the branch and leaned his back to the tree trunk. Idrial gave another soft sound of protest, but he gently pulled her into his lap and she rested her head on his chest, legs curled up and intertwined with his own. She gave another sound, but this one was of contentment.

Findon shifted his gaze back to the forest, arms wrapped protectively around Idrial's sleeping figure, one hand absently stroking her hair.

He let out a small laugh as he thought of their situation. "This is becoming a nightly habit, I see."

* * *

The crack of dawn came and went and after a quick breakfast, they were on the move once more. Findon had declined to wake the next person on guard duty and had spent the whole night on the tree, admiring the night sky, the sounds of the trees, and of course the young woman in his arms. He was tired, but that was all right. He had spent days without sleep at times and his senses were not dulled in the least. And so the journey continued onwards, this time northwards. With a bit of luck and speed, Findon reckoned, they would reach Cair Andros the following morning. He took his place once more at the head of the company, some ways ahead and scanning the land once more. Despite his exhaustion, he was in high spirits and just so as Idrial had chosen to walk with him. The rest of the villagers noticed this and couldn't help but smile fondly at the pair walking in the distance.

"Life was good," Findon thought contentedly. It was nearing midday and that had just barely crossed him mind when he heard his name called. He turned and saw Tobold running towards him. And from the look on the other man's face, Findon somehow knew in his gut that their luck may have just run out.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings nor any of its characters.

VIII

"There he is," Findon whispered. He and Tobold laid there flat just before the crest of a hill, peering over it into the distance. It was nearly impossible to miss, even for the untrained eye. Outlined on the horizon stood a single rider.

"Orc?" Tobold asked, also in a hushed whisper.

Findon peered long and hard at the figure in the distance. It was a horseman. For that there was no doubt. But the figure was too far away for Findon to see its face.

"I don't think it's an orc." Tobold looked at him with one eyebrow raised in question.

"Call it a gut feeling if you will," Findon grinned briefly before sobering up once more. "No, if I know anything about orcs, I'd say I've never seen an orc on top of a horse before. Nor will any horse be willing to bear them."

The two turned their attentions back to the rider. Findon could just make out the tiny movements of the rider's head, scanning the land before him. The tall grass of the plains gave them ample coverage enough…assuming the rider was foe of course.

Findon racked his brain, trying to recall Gondor's troop movements. There was one thing he knew for certain. The Rangers of Ithilien were one of the only companies active east of the Anduin. It was they who maintained the secret refuges that dated back to Turin's day, the second of his name. No one else was permitted to cross the river, especially since war began in June. Nor really was there any willing.

Of course, he could always be a scout from Cair Andros. Companies from the isle that guarded Gondor from the north were the only other ones active in the region. But aside from the infrequent scouting party, the garrison there did not venture far from the banks of the Anduin into the interior.

The rider reeled his horse around and rode off, disappearing on the horizon. But not before Findon caught a glint of red. And that got Findon thinking once more. It had been brief, to the point that Findon had almost missed it. There was a strong breeze in the air so odds were that the rider was not wearing a cloak, else it would have bustled in the wind behind. It must have been his raiment. The soldiers of the White Tree were garbed in the fashion of Minas Tirith, silver and black.

Findon silently gestured Tobold to back away and the two slid back down the hill and got up onto their feet. They started back to the rest of the villagers at a light jog.

"My guess is that there's an Easterling party nearby. That horseman was heading back east."

"Aye. That's bad news for us. If they should learn we're here…," Tobold trailed off, but they both knew what the consequences would be. Findon nodded, deep in thought. They were a full day's journey from their present location to Cair Andros. Less if they picked up the pace. But a lot could happen in that time. A lot.

The two neared the copse of trees where the rest of the village stood waiting. It was Elder Stanin that saw them first and he quickly made his way over.

"What happened?"

As Tobold explained to the Elder and the villagers what they had seen, Findon weighed the different courses of action to take. A company of horsemen would make short work of the travelling group should they ever catch wind of them.

An exclamation snapped him out of his reverie and he looked up. Tobold, it would seem, had finished his account and the villagers were not taking it very well. Mutterings ran through the crowd. Men raising their voices, asking questions and talking worriedly with one another. The women clutched their children more closely.

"Everyone! Quiet!" Elder Stanin stood up on a nearby tree stump. "Please calm down. If we panic, we are lost. Findon, what do you think we should do?" The elder addressed Findon, as the village quieted down, eyes turning to look at the young Ranger. Findon stood there silent, trying to decide how to frame his next words. They were his charges. They were counting on him, looking at him for answers.

Findon cleared his throat and began, "Our secrecy is the first and foremost thing that we should worry about. That and our safety. Cair Andros is a day's walk from here. But it will not be easy," Findon paused and let that sink in, "The road from here to the isle is flat. Nothing but plains. No trees or cover whatsoever. If the enemy even happens to chance of us…" Findon didn't finish his sentence, but the understanding was there in everyone's eyes.

"So what happens then?" someone called out.

"The problem is that we don't know enough. That horseman could be one of us, a scout sent out or a messenger. Or it could be one of the Enemy. But I'm not going to take any chances. We need to know for sure what's out there and we also need to get moving. Elder Stanin, please come with me. You too Tobold. The rest of you, get ready to get on the road once more. We'll make it yet." And with that, the villagers broke up and Findon walked to the edge of the wood as Tobold and the Elder came over with, to his surprise, Idrial, in tow.

"Findon, what's going on?" Idrial asked him worried as the three neared him. Findon gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile before addressing the little group.

"Alright, here's the plan and listen closely because I've already lost precious minutes. The Anduin is near us. Elder, you know the way to the isle. Stay close to the river and keep heading north. If you hurry, you might be able to make it by nightfall. But if you don't, get to as much cover as you can for the night. Post guards and keep a close eye out of trouble. No campfires. That's too much of a risk." Elder Stanin opened his mouth but Findon quickly cut him off.

"No, please listen," Findon turned to Tobold. "Tobold, I want you to gather up some of the men and create a screen, particularly on our eastern flank. Keep yourselves hidden and watch for anything that might come your way. You have the river to your west so there shouldn't be much trouble from there. But keep an eye out nonetheless and keep your wits sharp, all of you. The Enemy has more servants in his service than mere Orcs or Easterlings."

Tobold nodded and said in a determined voice, "You can count on me Findon." The two men looked at each other, mutual respect flowing between them.

"What about you Fin?" Idrial asked worriedly. Findon looked at her and gave a sad little smile and Idrial knew then, no words needed, what he was going to do.

"No, Fin please!"

"I'm sorry. I have to Idrial." Turning to the other two, he said, "As for me, I'm going to go after that rider. Sooner or later, he'll rejoin the rest of the party. If they're heading this way, I will do all that I can to distract them. If it comes to that."

As expected, they reacted as Idrial did and vehemently tried to persuade him otherwise.

"Guys. Every second lost is crucial. The trail is growing colder. It's the only way. If they catch up to us unawares. We're done for. But I can find them before they find us, the villagers still have a chance to get to safety."

The Elder stared at him hard and saw the unwavering determination in his eyes, and then shook his head, "You are your father's son Findon. I knew him for a long time and I knew him well. A very brave man. When an idea came to his head not even the blackest fires of the Orodruin could dissuade him." He grasped ahold of Findon's arm and squeezed it tight, clasping Findon's shoulder with his other hand. "Go. Go with all our blessings on you. And on behalf of this entire village, we thank you. For everything."

Findon gave a grim smile. "Don't thank me yet. We're not out of the woods. But we'll share a tank of ale when I get back." The Elder smiled and together with Tobold, who also clasped Findon on the shoulder, left to get the villagers ready. Idrial stood last, head downcast and looking as though tears were not far off. The sight of her face almost made Findon change his mind. He wanted to tell her that he would stay, but in his heart of hearts, he knew that he must go. Not just for the villagers' safety. Gondor simply didn't know enough. More and more scouts that ventured east of the river were vanishing into thin air, never heard from again. Commanders were reluctant to send more in their stead, for Gondor needed every man.

"Idrial, I have to go. Please understand," Findon pleaded. She had to. He couldn't bear going with Idrial angry at him. Idrial looked up, struggling not to let tears burst through, lips trembling and ran into Findon, arms around his neck clutching him tightly. They stood there, holding each other. No more words were spoken, but Findon knew that she understood. Understood how important his sense of duty was. Idrial lifted her head and stared into his eyes.

"You come back. You'd better," she said fiercely and then leaned in and kissed him. It was short but passionate. All the emotions and feelings that could not be put into words were all bottled up in that one short moment. How sweet it was, her lips. And that almost broke Findon for he never wanted to leave. They broke apart and Findon sadly let go of her.

He pulled his hood up over his head and gave her his most reassuring smile. "I'll be back." And then he was off, sprinting like a deer over the plains. Idrial stood there long even after Findon had disappeared far into the East.

He ran. No food, no water, no breaks. For how long he didn't know, but the sun was well on its way down before Findon made his first stop beside a small creek. He had seen no one all day, but that didn't discourage him. The tracks were there and some hidden sixth sense of his told him that his enemy was close. He knelt down by the creek and refilled his waterskin. He felt weary and wanted nothing better than to lay down and sleep until he could sleep no more. His body was in excellent condition, but he was only human. The miles had stretched out before him and though his quarry was on horse, he knew that somewhere along the line, he would have to camp for the night. Either by himself or he would rejoin a larger party.

And with a great strength of will, Findon set off once more, though at a slower pace than before.

It wasn't before night had fallen that he got his first chance of luck. A large flock of creban flew over his head. He had ducked into some tall shrubbery just in time before he heard the flap of wings above him. As he peered through a gap between two branches, he pondered this current development. Creban were scarce in this area of the world. They usually inhabited the forests and woodlands to the north but to see a flock all the way down in Ithilien was disturbing.

Findon waited until the flapping wings were heard no more. He crept out from under the bush and peered into the distance were the creban had disappeared. The sun was gone and the trail was turning colder. He stood there, mentally going over his options. He could turn back of course and rejoin the villagers, who would surely be close to shelter by now unless they came across some misfortune. It was the safest option but turning back was anathema to him. His trip had not resulted in anything new and he felt disappointed. The other option was to rest up and continue on at first light. But by then the horseman could be leagues away and it would be pointless to try and catch up. The night was dark and the moon remain shrouded. Stumbling blindly along would do him no good either.

Findon gave a sigh of frustration. Every minute he stayed here indecisive gave the Enemy more time to maneuver. And then a thought came to him. The creban flock. They were headed just a little bit to the southeast of where he had been travelling. It was a very big gamble. But Findon latched onto to this one last hope. After all, the creban were the only creatures he had seen all day and he could not give up just yet. He had to find out what was going on. An Easterling rider so close to the river border. A flock of creban from faraway lands. It could be nothing more than just the erratic movements of Enemy troops. Or it could be something else. It had to be.

" _Come on, one last effort,"_ Findon willed himself and he was off once more.

He had gone less than a mile before the faint smell of smoke reached his nostrils. In the distance, Findon saw tiny wisps of smoke that were barely perceptible, obscured by a series of small hills that dotted the landscape in front of him. But the smell was there and unmistakable. He smiled to himself. His instincts had not failed him and that gave him a boost in morale.

Yet, the enemy was close and he knew that the next moments would be crucial. He pulled the cowl of his cloak off his head and made sure his weapons were easily accessible. He didn't want his field of vision to be obscured in any way. The smoke was about half a mile away Findon estimated. But he proceeded cautiously, stealthily making his way across the landscape with his Ranger training kicking in. There were sure to be lookouts and Findon acted as if the whole area before him were dotted with these pickets. It would slow him down to be so cautious, but he knew it could just save his life in the end.

As Findon finally reached the last hill, he slowly crept up to the crest, peered down, and gasped. As far as his eye could see, rows upon rows of tents stretched out across the plains. He had been right to trust his gut. Something was brewing out here in Ithilien and it appears that he had just found it. There were three hundred men here at least, Findon counted. This was no mere scouting party. The Enemy is moving and he needed more information. Approaching the camps was impossible. He would stick out like a sore thumb. Best to keep to the perimeters of the camps. He needed numbers, first and foremost. And also a general sense of this party's direction. Faramir had spoken of Easterlings and Haradrim passing through the Morannon. So perhaps that. Or perhaps it was reinforcements headed towards the Morgul Vale. The numbers were too large to be anything but this or an attack force. All the river passages had been destroyed for months. And even as Findon came to this thought, dread crept up his spine. All the river passages except two. One at Osgiliath where Gondor still maintained a strength of arms since the first surprise attack in June. And the other at Cair Andros, where his friends and family were headed towards. He had to find out more. He moved to get up but something told him to get back down once more. He froze, all his breathing came to a stop. The sound of voices was heard. At he been spotted? He had been supremely cautious in his movements and he was sure no one had seen him. But all that thought went away as he peeked over the top of the hill again and saw two figures headed up his way.


End file.
